


stress in wisdom

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Assumed Relationship, Guilt, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pining, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall gets closer to Nick while away on tour and worries what Harry would think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stress in wisdom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlepinkbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlepinkbow/gifts).



> Written as part of the Niall Exchange for the prompt of Niall/Nick long distance relationship where Niall thinks that Nick is dating Harry and Harry's actually trying to set them up. It's occurred to me through writing this that I find it very hard to write scenes where they aren't in the same room! I do hope you like it!
> 
> Firstly, Niall spends a portion of this fic thinking that Nick and Harry are in a relationship and has subsequent guilty feelings re: cheating but there is no actual infidelity in this fic. 
> 
> Secondly, this was written over the summer and therefore before most of the X Factor details emerged so there are some inaccuracies regarding the format of X Factor this year but hopefully it won't be too bothersome!
> 
> Lots of thanks to [crundleberries](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crundleberries/pseuds/crundleberries) for the beta! 
> 
> Title from Youth by Ben Khan.

“What are you up to tonight then?” Niall can’t help asking. He’s missed them, that’s all. It’s been a long break. Niall’s been packed up and ready to go for a few minutes but he’s stalling so he can chat to them, hands still deep down in the bottom of his backpack so it doesn’t look like he’s doing it on purpose. 

Liam shrugs, his sunburn starting to peel around his eyebrows. Niall can’t stop staring at it even though he knows it’s rude and Liam will go all pouty if he catches him. “Head home,” Liam mutters, thumb ripping through the wrapper to a Snickers. He smiles and Niall can’t tell if it’s at the chocolate or at his plans for the weekend. “Catch all the Sophia-time I can get.”

Louis pulls a face. He’s gone Anti-Romance since the breakup. Niall snorts at his face but otherwise doesn’t comment - he doesn’t want to be dragged out to a club again tonight until 4am. He needs an early night for once. He’s starting to feel under his eyes go papery.

“Spare us the details,” Louis says and pulls on his jacket. He glances over at Niall again, eyes how he’s sitting on the edge of the sofa with his hands unmoving inside his bag. Niall averts his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got to see a man about a monkey.”

“It’s a dog,” Harry tells him. He’s been fiddling with his phone for the past twenty minutes and Niall hadn’t been sure he was even paying attention. All of his stuff is still littered across the coffee table. “See a man about a dog,” Harry repeats slowly as Louis stares at him.

Louis smiles, placating. “We’ll see,” he says cryptically and disappears out the door to the studio. Liam pulls a confused a frown before taking off after him.

“So,” Niall prompts when Harry’s finally pocketed his phone, shoving everything into his own bag. Niall can see a pair of socks and another flowery shirt in the depths of it. There’s been a toothbrush sticking out of his back pocket all afternoon. “Where are you off to?”

Harry smiles at him, face lighting up. “Grimmy’s.” He’s positively beaming. “He’s got an event tonight. He’s done something or other with Topman.” He shrugs it off but Niall can see in the set of his shoulders that he’s secretly proud. 

Niall smiles, zipping up his backpack. “I wouldn’t tell Grimmy that you’re loose on the details.”

Harry shrugs jerkily. His shirt is threatening to come off his shoulder. “I’m going. That’s the important part.” He takes a minute, fiddling with his phone again. Niall can’t help but think that Harry’s maybe missing a lot of important parts. But it’s something they don’t talk about, that are-they-aren’t-they mystery shrouding Nick and Harry’s friendship. Niall isn’t sure how they’re doing it long distance -- it doesn’t seem fair. 

“Hey,” Harry says once they’ve made it as far as the front door. Niall’s nearly sure all the fans have left by now; it sounds blissfully quiet through the door.

Niall hums back at him, eye pressed against the window to check if the coast is clear.

“D’you wanna come?”

Niall narrows his eyes. Hanging out with Grimmy is always fun, but he’s not sure if he wants to be around them if they go all handsy – Niall’s knows they never realise how annoying they can be sometimes.

Harry’s looking at him, something bright lighting up his expression. He’s got his phone back in his hand, fingers poised over his messages. “Come on. It’ll be a laugh. Grimmy loves to see you.”

“Sure,” Niall finds himself answering. He hasn’t seen Grimmy in ages and he’d just be sitting in the house by himself, he supposes. A night out with Nick does sound fun. “As long as he doesn’t mind,” Niall checks.

Harry grins, something akin to a glint in his eye. “It’ll be fine.”

*

The event isn’t fancy, so Niall’s glad he’s stuck with his stripes and jeans. He drove in case he needed to bail early and followed the GPS instructions his Google called out to him meticulously. Sometimes the events Harry invites him to are full of people that Niall can hardly ever talk to. Or marginally worse - full of people with whom he’ll get drunk and loose lipped, people he’ll chat to all night only to find it splashed across the papers the next morning.

Odette’s is pretty, all white tablecloths and kitsch yellow chairs. There’s no one sitting outside, which Niall finds strange. It’s a sunny night and prime dinnertime -- it should be heaving. He pulls his sunglasses off once he gets over the door, sticks them into the collar of his shirt and takes a look around. There’s a long table spread across the back of the room, and the rest of the tables have been pushed aside to allow for the guests to chitchat and drink by the bar. There a few huge frames hung on the wall and Niall glances at a few, snorting when he realises they’re all of Grimmy looking pensively at the camera. He looks the complete opposite as Niall feels in front of a camera – at home and relaxed as he poses in his new wardrobe of designs. Niall wonders how he looks so at ease. When Niall looks at himself he doesn’t think he looks that relaxed.

He finally spies Harry in the corner, chatting away to someone that Niall vaguely recognises from somewhere he can’t quite place. Harry sees him, nods his head but finishes his conversation - leaving Niall hovering by the door and sticking out like a sore thumb for an entire eleven minutes. Niall counts them slowly, two or three ticking by with every glance at his phone.

“Hey,” Harry says, smile already nice and loose. Niall shoves his phone in his pocket. “You made it.”

“Is this a private event?” Niall asks immediately, cutting him off. He catches someone staring at him, frown on their face. Niall wishes he’s at least wore a button up. Harry glances around shiftily.

“Maybe.” He shrugs, takes a sip out of his glass through a straw and looks entirely unfazed. Niall closes his eyes and tries not to be terse. He hates when Harry just invites him along to these types of things on the basis that they can just _squeeze a little one in_. Niall’s not little – not when he’s not invited. He’s going to stick out like a sore thumb. A huge uninvited thumb.

“You could’ve mentioned that,” Niall hisses at him. “Fuck’s sake.” He’s about to turn and go when Nick pops up beside him.

“Oh hello,” Nick says, smile growing on his face as he glances between Harry and Niall. “I thought it was just a joke that you two were attached at the hip. Are the other three going to pop up at any moment?”

The smile on Harry’s face falters and even though he’s quick to smooth it out, replace it with a smile, Niall still catches it.

“Shit,” Nick says, his voice dropping with genuine regret. He reaches out for Harry’s elbow. “Two. The other two.”

Niall smiles at him because Harry’s gone quiet, biting at his straw and staring at Niall’s shoulder. Nick looks concerned, Niall wonders what Harry’s been talking to him about.

“Not here, I’m afraid,” Niall says with a shrug. “And I shouldn’t be either by the looks of it.” He sends a playful glare at Harry but he’s still avoiding all eye contact. Niall reaches out and touches his hip.

Nick pulls a face, his eyes widening. “Oh, no. This is something I can fix. We can set you a place.” Nick’s already waving his hand at someone before Niall can resist. They’re too alike – him and Harry, too eager to just squeeze him in.

“It’s fine,” Niall says, lifting a hand to catch the soft material of his sleeve. The table looks packed as it is, all decked out in flowers and wine glasses, three sets of shiny cutlery to each plate. Nick glances around him and Niall laughs it off. “Honest. Congratulations on your --” Niall waves his hand about at the photos lining the walls. He’s not exactly sure what it is he’s even congratulating him for.

“Nonsense,” Nick says, shaking his head. “You’re here now. You may as well get a dinner out of it. D’you want a drink?”

Niall shakes his head, giving into the way Nick is wrapping his hand around his wrist. It feels warm. “Driving.” 

“Great,” Nick says after a beat. He turns to Harry and gives him a smile. “Free lifts home, eh, Haz? We won’t have to make awkward conversation with an Uber driver.”

Harry smiles, his face looking more natural now. “Knew there was a reason I invited him.”

Niall rolls his eyes but follows them through the restaurant. Nick stays close to him, his hand still loosely curled around Niall’s bony wrist. He’s missed the official photographs, the photographer lurking in the corner to pick a few action shots of the crowd. Niall keeps his head down; he doesn’t need the extra attention.

“We’ll find you a seat,” Nick says, pushing at Niall’s shoulders, ushering him towards the table. Harry slides into a seat in the middle of the booth. If he needs to get up and escape, he’ll have to ask three people to leave. That feels too constricting to Niall but he still has the urge to follow him just so he has someone to talk to. Instead, he bites his tongue and goes where he’s told. He already feels like a dick making people move. He can see a waitress set up another place at the far end of the table and he feels awkward as Nick sets him up at the corner of the table beside him. So much for being Harry’s Plus-One. He’s four seats away now, moving up the bench to chat to another person that Niall can’t even pretend to know. 

“The kitchen isn’t going to be mad, is it?” Niall can’t help but ask once Nick’s settled in the seat beside him. Niall keeps his feet to himself underneath his chair, but they’re packed so tight that Nick’s knee still presses into Niall’s thigh.

“You’re a popstar. They always save an extra for a stray.” Nick says, as if that solves everything. Niall rolls his eyes but can’t help a laugh.

The food’s good, dainty, and tasty, but the courses stretch out and the longer the night lasts, the more Niall starts to feel awkward. He doesn’t have the ease of a drink to make him more chatty, and he’s hemmed in between Nick – who is the life and soul of the party, everyone clamoring for a part of his conversation – and an older gentleman who works for Topman. Niall’s already exhausted all small talk with him, signed an autograph for his niece, and he’s getting a selection of free garb in return. He’s not quite sure what other topics they have left.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Nick says once the pretty desserts have been served. They’re towering piles of fluffy meringue and cream and fruit, some sort of deconstructed Eton Mess according to the personalized menu in front of Nick’s plate. Niall pulls a fork through the cream at the side, watches the deep rakes through it.

Niall shrugs. “Just tired.” Niall bites his tongue on everything else he wants to say -- how he hasn’t been sleeping, how it’s the first night all week he hasn’t had a drink, how he’s so excited to get back onto the road to be _doing_ something but the thought of it is making him sick with nerves.

Nick’s eyebrows dip as he spoons a healthy mouthful of dessert into his mouth. Cream catches at the side of his mouth. “Me too,” he says, tongue swiping out to get it. He’s got a lazy grin on his face so Niall can’t quite take him seriously. “These early mornings are catching up to me.”

Niall smiles and watches as he struggles to clean his mouth. Niall’s already reaching out to help him before he realizes it. “Missed a spot,” Niall says, thumbing over the corner of his mouth that’s still smeared with cream.

“Thanks,” Nick says, his eyes widening slightly. Niall blinks at him, hand still raised. Nick’s barely there stubble feels nice against his skin. He rubs at the bottom of his lip again, feels where it’s wet with spit. Niall likes it – something a bit more real than the soft jaw on the photo on the wall over Nick’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t even be eating all this,” Nick says quietly, as if he isn’t being rubbed by a mere acquaintance. Niall pulls his hand away sharply, suddenly realising what he’s doing.

“Sure, you’ve already done your big photoshoot,” Niall says, raising his hand to point at the portraits of Nick dotted around the room. Nick ducks his head.

He’s never seen Nick look embarrassed before. It’s nice to see something that Nick clearly doesn’t allow a lot of people to see. It feels special some how. “D’you think they look naff?” he asks quietly.

Niall snorts. “Definitely not. Very understated cool.”

It makes Nick smile, and Niall smiles back.

He opens his mouth to say something else – he’s not really sure what, he just has that pull at the bottom of his belly that wants to keep him talking, keep all Nick’s attention on himself.

Nick laughs at something, leaning back into the person beside him, and just as quick as he started talking to Niall, he’s gone again.

*

“This isn’t my design,” Nick accuses him. Harry starts laughing, pulling at the shirt Niall’s got on his back.

“It’s not,” Niall agrees. Nick’s pointed this out already but Niall finds himself smiling anyway as Nick inspects him. “But it is Topman.”

“That’s even worse,” Nick tells him. “That’s like an _almost_. An almost Nick Grimshaw Designs.”

Harry snorts and tumbles into the back of the car. He kicks for a moment, his legs flopping everywhere before he finally rights himself and gets his seatbelt on. “This is a Nick Grimshaw.” He plucks at the shirt again and Niall nods, pulling open his own door as Nick laughs and climbs in on top of him. Harry cheers, voice slightly muffled from Nick’s shoulder. “And this is one too,” he says, slapping Grimmy on the arse as he climbs over him.

Niall tries not to watch them. They’re laughing about something now – neither of them making much sense as Niall starts to pull out onto the road. It’s calm this time of night, the streetlights bright but the road quiet. 

Nothing much had really happened after dinner. Half the table had emptied out, trooping past Niall to airkiss farewells at Nick’s cheeks. Niall had remained in his seat, half in the way and getting knocked by fur coats and shiny leather handbags until most of them were gone. Harry had shuffled up, eyes loose with the bottle of Prosecco he had pilfered all for himself and had the remainder of the table in fits of laughter for another hour. Niall had laughed too; it was hard not to get sucked in, but now his eyes have gone grainy and he’s sort of wishing that he hadn’t had to loiter about as Grimmy collected his things and managed to load Harry into the back of the car. Niall yawns, pulling up to the set of traffic lights at the end of the road.

“You coming back to mine then?” Nick asks Harry softly. Niall keeps his eyes on the road, listening as Harry mumbles something back to him. His stomach twists and he’s not really sure why he’s feeling jealous. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s heading back to a half empty house and an even emptier bed. His sheets will be cold when he gets in, but Nick’s getting a Harry-hot-water-bottle to warm them up.

Niall feels his shoulders sink the longer it takes to get to Nick’s house, songs running into each other as Huw says goodbye and Benji B picks up the slot. Nick hums along from the backseat, half muffled in Harry’s neck. 

He doesn’t need directions to Nick’s house but Nick directs him anyway, a long arm poking into the front seat as he directs him to a certain side of the street. “Thanks,” Nick sings, suddenly leaning in after his arm. Harry’s already sliding out of the back of the car and onto the pavement, looking a little bit like a long legged spider. Niall knows he can hardly hold his bubbles, but this is ridiculous. Nick’s got a soft drunken smile on his face, his head cocked to the side.

“No problem,” Niall tells him. He can feel a yawn building, his eyes are tired. Nick is staring at him, smile melting down to something soft and fond.

“Best Uber driver ever,” Nick says. “You’re a Poppet.”

Niall snorts and opens his mouth to ask, “Popp-“ but Nick darts in and kisses him quickly.

“Poppet,” Nick confirms, and then he’s tumbling out of the car after Harry.

Niall doesn’t realise that Nick’s left a tray of meringue in the backseat until he pulls into his drive. It’s dark, Willie having turned off the security light when he’s been away. The gate beeps softly as Niall climbs out of the car and pulls open the back door. There’s a scarf balled up in the footwell too, and Niall snorts when he sees the dark black frame sticking up out of the boot. 

“Bloody hell,” he swears to himself, walking round to the back and pulling open the boot. Nick’s managed to fit in three of the huge photo frames in beside Niall’s wellie boots, a crate of Coors light that was on offer in Tesco and the bag of clothes he keeps in there for emergencies. Niall doesn’t know how he’s done it because when he goes to lift one, they’re heavier than he thought. 

He takes the little one, leaving the heavier ones in the back of his car as he heads into the house. Nick’s got on a thick jumper, the stripes running across his chest as he looks artfully away from the camera. Niall wasn’t lying when he said he looked effortlessly cool earlier in the evening. He can still hear the bashful way Nick had laughed ringing in his ear. 

Niall yawns, props Nick up on the breakfast bar in his kitchen beside his coffee machine and fancy kitchen roll. 

He’ll phone him in the morning and tell him. 

As tired as he is, Niall can’t sleep. He strips down to his pants and lies there, spread out across his cool sheets watching as the shadows shift across his ceiling until dawn breaks. He feels drained, that way your bones feel like they’re going to sink right through your muscles. When he closes his eyes he thinks of Harry, laughing into the vintage champagne glass he had commandeered as his own. He thinks of Louis already in Los Angeles, Liam with Sophia. He wonders where Zayn is -- thinks to how it’s been the longest he’s gone without speaking to him. He could be anywhere. 

Just after half six he rolls over, pushing his hands underneath his pillow for his phone. Clean Bandit are playing when the iPlayer loads off the WiFi and it just about drowns out the faint noise of Willie getting up for work. No matter how big his house is he can still hear the run of the shower and the sound of doors closing. Niall listens until the song ends, eyelids drooping, until Nick comes on over the end of the jingle.

“Morning.” Nick’s voice is rough with sleep and the night before. Niall wonders drowsily if Harry’s still at his, curled into the warmth of where Nick had slept. Niall’s bed feels huge, mattress spreading out either side of him. “How’s everyone today? I am feeling bright and breezy –”

Niall laughs softly, slowly giving into sleep.

*

Niall forgets all about the photos in the back of his car when he goes to pick Harry up. He’s already out on his front step, sitting with his trunk for tour and the worn leather bag he totes around everywhere with him. 

“You look like you’ve been chucked out,” Niall comments as he steps out of the car. Harry’d given him a fob for the gates so he doesn’t have to get out of the car to key in the code and it hangs on his London keyring but Niall’s yet to have actually stepped foot inside. 

“Don’t wanna be late,” Harry tells him, getting to his feet. He grins at him, hair already pulled back into a complicated knot at the back of his head. Niall follows him round to the boot, hoisting one half of the trunk into the air. 

“Oh,” Harry says once the door pops up. Niall snorts, feels his face heat up when Harry glances over his shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. “Hello Nick,” Harry crows, saluting with one tanned hand to his forehead. 

“He left them in there the other night, didn’t he?” Niall says. They’re just back from Wales and he hasn’t been out in the car yet. Harry hums and pulls his end of the trunk around to the back door at the far side of the car. Niall follows him obediently for fear of dropping it and breaking one of their feet.

Niall can feel the sweat gather at his neckline. It’s hotter now that they’re into June, but it’s still nothing to write home about. Harry’s face has gone carefully blank and Niall itches to ask him what he’s thinking -- Niall’s not imagining the way his shoulders have tensed since he’s seen the pictures of Nick in the boot.

“You gonna hock them on the internet?” Harry asks once they shove the case into the backseat. There’s something playful there, but his expression is still calculating when Niall glances up at him.

Niall laughs, hating how uneasy it sounds. “Need the extra cash.”

“Thought so,” Harry says wisely, pulling an array of items out of his back pockets before he gets into the car. He drops his passport and wallet onto the dashboard, settling back into the passenger seat with a kiwi fruit and two phones. 

“I don’t know why you’re dragging all this stuff over to LA when you’ve only one day off,” Niall comments, hoping to change the conversation as he reverses out of Harry’s drive. They’re supposed to be off to Vienna the day after next. Niall’s planning on making the most of the lack of rain to fire up his barbeque. 

“I want to finish the garden before it gets properly hot,” Harry explains, picking at the sticker on the kiwi-fruit. “It’s nearly done.”

Niall hums. His London house has been ‘nearly done’ for over a year now but Niall can smell the faint hint of sawdust and metallic paint off him now. Niall has the suspicion that he’s doing it all himself, square inch by square inch. 

Harry’s rolling the kiwi in one hand, the other scrolling through his phone as Niall joins traffic heading towards Heathrow. 

“Do you know if you’re allergic to latex, you might be allergic to kiwifruit?” Harry asks, glancing up at him abruptly. 

Niall frowns, glancing over at him and then back at the road. “You’re not allergic to latex. Or kiwis.”

Harry shrugs. “Latex can make me feel --” he does an odd shruggy thing and Niall rolls his eyes. 

“Well,” Niall says, changing lanes. “That’s because you’re not supposed to eat latex, are you?”

“Latex doesn’t let the skin _breathe_ ,” Harry says. “If you know what I mean.”

“I think even the kiwi knows what you mean,” Niall mutters. 

Harry smiles serenely at him and then takes a bite out of the kiwifuit in his hand like an apple. 

“What the fuck?!” Niall cries out, shrinking back from him. Harry laughs, gags a little as he chews through the fruit, skin and all. 

“It’s nature’s way,” Harry says through a mouthful. 

“You utter weirdo,” Niall mutters, refusing to watch as he takes another bite. “It’s _furry_.”

“Nothing wrong with a little bit of fuzz,” Harry says wisely. Niall groans, he always has to make it a little bit dirty. “A little au naturel.”

“Not on a fucking _fruit_.”

Harry laughs, popping the final bit of the kiwi into his mouth. There’s juice running all down his wrist and he makes a show of lapping it up. 

“So,” Harry says once they approach the familiar exit for Heathrow. Niall’s been here more times that he can count now. It feels oddly familiar even though it normally denotes leaving for somewhere completely new. “Nick.”

Niall’s stomach turns to jelly. “What about him?”

Niall winces. It sounds on the edge of being defensive and he doesn’t want to come across like that in front of Harry. Especially not Harry -- he knows him far too well to buy it. He doesn’t even have anything to be _defensive_ of. 

“Apart from your little shrine in the back?” Harry starts to laugh. 

Niall rolls his eyes. “Not a shrine. Just forgot they were there.”

Harry hums and then suggests, “You should drop them round.” His voice has gone all weird but Niall can’t place why. He sounds like he does when he’s got something up his sleeve and doesn’t want anyone to find out about it for a while. Niall nearly always does so he’s not too concerned about that bit. 

“Will do,” Niall promises, even though it’s sort of making him anxious thinking about it. Nick’ll think he’s been stringing it out as long as possible to leave them back. It’s not really his fault because he’s been away on tour, but Nick won’t have noticed. He’ll just be wondering why it’s taken Niall a fortnight to return massive blown up photographs of him.

“See you tomorrow,” Harry tells him, leaning across to brush Niall’s lips quickly. Niall can feel where he hasn’t shaved and it’s soft and fuzzy, like Harry’s rolling a kiwi across Niall’s mouth. It makes him gag as Harry pulls away with a loud laugh. 

“Bye,” Niall says belatedly as Harry drags out his luggage. He doesn’t help him this time -- he doesn’t deserve it. 

“Bye Niall,” Harry calls. Niall watches as he waves into the boot. “Bye Nick.”

Niall doesn’t even wait until he’s through the automatic doors before he pulls away from the curb. 

*

Niall makes three loops past Nick’s house before he builds up the courage to just pull in and go to his house. The frames are large and awkward and it takes Niall a moment or two to work out how to carry them down the street and then down the steps to Nick’s door. 

The dog barks when he knocks the door so he knows Nick’s in but he has to wait awhile on the door opening. Niall feels himself get more nervous with every minute he stands there, half hidden from the people walking by up on the street. He’s not exactly sure why -- it’s just Grimmy after all, but the longer he stands there waiting on the sound of footsteps, the sweatier his hands get. 

There’s the faint sound of a door banging inside and Niall’ stomach twists with panic. Just as the front door opens, Niall yanks the frame in his hand up to cover his face. 

“Oh,” Nick yelps. “Fuck!” 

He’s wearing odd socks, one a bright neon green that catches Niall’s eye as soon as he opens the door. Niall stares at it as he gathers his wits. 

“Ha,” Niall says a bit belatedly, dropping his arms so he can see Nick over the top of the frame. It feels forced but Nick doesn’t call him out on it.

“Oh,” Nick says again, his head tipping to the side as he looks at him a little confused instead. “Hiya, love.”

Niall feels self-conscious for a moment, his arms sore. He drops the frame onto his toe and balances it with a shaking hand. “Expecting someone else?”

Nick pulls a face at being caught out. “Well, actually.” He does a little jerky shrug of his shoulder before stepping back to let Niall in.

Niall laughs, stomach sinking. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, you’ll do,” Nick assures him with a grin. “What can I do you for? Thought you were some mad fan who had gotten hold of my pictures.”

He reaches forward and grabs the other frame, hauling it up into his arms.

“Fuck, these aren’t light are they?” Nick asks and jerks his head for Niall to follow him in. 

“Thought I’d drop them round,” Niall says as they shuffle through the hall. Nick sets one of the frames up against a little wooden table. It looks like it’d keel over if Niall did the same with his, so he waits until Nick turns and takes it off him. Nick gives him a grin before his gaze skitters away. 

They’re still in the hallway, the front door open. Niall can hear people laugh as they make their way past his steps and he thinks desperately for something that will make him stay longer. “And um, Harry said something about some stuff he left --” 

Niall clears his throat so it doesn’t sound like he has no idea what he’s on about. Because he doesn’t have the foggiest if Harry’s left anything at all at Nick’s. It’s like his mind is running a track or two too far ahead. He immediately regrets it -- he doesn’t need an excuse to be here. 

“Sure,” Nick says, ushering him through into the living room. Niall’s never been this far into the house before and he marvels at how cluttered every shelf and table is, the walls covered in bright pieces of art. NIall’s house feels very neutral compared to this -- even with all his plaques and pictures up around the place. 

“How come you’re playing Harry Styles’ PA today?” Nick asks, making his way into the kitchen. The radio is on, Annie Mac’s voice filtering through the open door. 

Niall laughs at the rhyme and shrugs, taking a gamble. “He desperately needs more suede boots in the sweltering LA heat apparently.”

“Has he gone already?” Nick asks, and Niall catches how his face falls. Niall hesitates -- he was sure that Nick would’ve already known that.

Niall nods and watches as Nick’s mouth turns up into a small, forced smile. He pulls the foot with the green sock behind his other heel and something in the way he’s standing makes Niall want to pull him into a hug. He swallows down the thought.

“Bloody loves that place, doesn’t he?” Nick asks and turns to walk into the kitchen. Niall stares at the worn heel of his sock. Nick’s voice is back to being blasé. “Thought he wasn’t going until Friday? Do you want some dinner then?”

“He’s sorting out the house,” Niall says as he trails after him. He hadn’t heard any plans about Friday – Harry rarely tells him when he’s flying until he’s already in LA, except this time he needed a lift. 

The kitchen smells delicious, something bubbling quietly on the hob and garlic bread in the oven. There’s two wine glasses standing on the counter beside the sink, a wine rack full of bottles to choose from.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” Niall says, glancing around the rest of the kitchen in case he’s missed that Nick’s got guests. Maybe there’s someone out the back with the dog. There’s soft evening sunshine filtering into Nick’s living room from the double doors at the far side of his flat and it would be a pretty night for a dinner-for-two out on the patio. Niall tugs at the hem of his t-shirt. 

“There’s plenty,” Nick assures him, giving the sauce a stir. “You can’t spend all evening being Harry Styles’s skivvy and not get any tea for it.”

Niall’s not sure if he’s imagining the way Nick’s voice goes sharp over Harry’s name. He’s starting to worry that dinner had been for him. Niall feels a bit guilty by association. He doesn’t understand how Harry can fuck off to LA and not tell Nick.

“Well,” Niall says. “I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

“That’s the spirit,” Nick cheers, reaching up into the cupboard above him to pull down two pasta bowls. There’s a little sliver of skin exposed where his shirt has ridden up, it looks soft and warm. Niall feels cliche for staring at it. “Didn’t spend all afternoon making it to go in the bin.”

Niall cringes and turns away so Nick won’t see him. He has the urge to pull out this phone and text Harry a string of abusive messages for making him go round in the first place. The frames would’ve done rightly in the back of his car until Niall had flown off to tour and forced Willie to deliver them. But now Niall’s here and said he’s waiting for a pair of imaginary boots. 

Niall breathes out. There’s a little niggling part of him that wants to soak up as much time with Nick as possible. He’d just be going home to pack for tomorrow anyway, he reasons. Willie’ll have had tea ages ago. 

“Garlic bread?” Nick asks, shaking Niall from his internal ponderings.

“Yeah,” Niall says and takes a seat at the table. There’s a stack of letters shoved to one side and one lone darkening banana in a fruit bowl. “Cheers.”

“Do you want a drink?” Nick asks and Niall thinks that it should be more formal, more awkward to watch as Nick hurries about the kitchen. It feels like it’s edging into domestic territory. Niall bites his lip and tries not to overthink it.

Nick sets the plate in front of him with little flourish. It feels _normal_. “Niall? Drink? Beer? White wine?”

“Got the car,” Niall says. 

Nick shakes his head, collapsing into the chair opposite him. “I can fill the rest up with 7-Up if you’d prefer?”

Niall laughs. “I’m not thirteen years old.”

“Thirteen?” NIck laughs. “I’m starting to think that you’re not Irish at all.” 

Nick tucks his napkin into the collar of his shirt. It’s white with a funny pattern that Niall’s seen sticking out of Harry’s suitcase. He looks young when he does that, and Niall snorts.

“I’m gonna take offense to that,” Niall says back, picking up his fork. Nick laughs, his eyes firmly on his plate.

“You offended? _I’m_ starting to think you don’t want to have a drink with me,” Nick says, shoving a fork full of food into his mouth. Niall spins some spaghetti around his fork. “You should come round some time.”

Niall glances up. “What? I’m here now.”

Nick laughs, his whole face opening up. “I mean for a drink. A proper one.”

Niall feels his face grow a little hot. The lights in Nick’s kitchen are too bright. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Only if you have the 7-Up though.” 

Nick smiles at him, scrapes his fork across his plate. “Anything you want.”

Niall stays through dessert -- two scoops of mango frozen yoghurt because Nick’s watching his weight. 

“What have you got to watch your weight for?” Niall asks, watching as Nick sneaks a third scoop out of the carton that’s slowly leaving a puddle of condensation on the table top. Niall’s stacked their plates at the head of the table but Nick waves him away from doing the dishes. He’d even wrangled out the coffee machine to make fancy lattes but then gave up so Niall had made tea instead. 

Nick snorts, mouth full of ice cream. “Believe it or not, I did not wake up like this.”

Niall laughs, sucking ice cream off his spoon. It’s tart and he screws his face up a bit when it hits the back of his throat. It feels cold right to the root of his teeth. “Sure, you’re on the radio anyway.”

“Not for long,” Nick says, and then more indignantly, “Are you saying I’ve a face for the radio?”

Niall splutters out half of his ice cream and Nick pulls a face. 

“Horrible,” he mutters, morosely staring into the carton. 

Nick wipes some of the drips with his sleeve and then settles back into his chair. A beer would’ve been nice -- the sun’s just dipping and it’s starting to get chilly. 

“So are you going on the telly then?” Niall asks him. Nick glances up, like he’s been caught in headlights and Niall freezes, his heart giving an odd jittery thump. “What?”

“I’m not supposed to say,” Nick tells him, hardly concealing the excitement in his voice. 

Niall sits forward. “You can’t say that. You have to tell me now!”

 

“I’ve got a secret,” Nick says; his eyelids flutter a bit as he starts busying himself with the dishes. 

“Oh,” Niall says, keeping the grin off his face. “You couldn’t tell. Some A-List gossip, eh?”

Nick frowns. “I’m not A-List.” After a moment he mumbles, “You’re A-List.”

Niall scoffs. He still gets that little flutter in his tummy when someone says that to him. He _knows_ but he feels a bit like a dickhead once he starts saying it himself, or using it to his advantage. It feels alright when Nick says it though.

“Anyone I know?” Niall asks, picking up the spoons and the mugs left on the table and traipsing after him into the kitchen.

Nick spins on his heel to look at him. “Promise not to tell. You can’t tell anyone.”

Niall swallows. “If it’s really important,” he says. “You don’t have to sa—“

“I’m doing X Factor,” Nick announces breathlessly and then snaps his mouth shut. His eyes widen and he drops the rest of the plates in his hand onto the counter. “Shit. It feels so bad saying it out loud. Forget I said anything.”

Niall can feel where his eyebrows are still at his hairline. Shit. He wasn’t expecting that.

“That’s amazing!” Niall says, dropping the spoons into the sink and turning around to gather him into a hug. It’s slightly awkward, neither of them really knowing where to go. Niall pulls away, his hand sliding against the soft cotton of Nick’s t-shirt. It feels like he shouldn’t have done that. 

Nick gives him a small smile. “You don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

NIall frowns. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“Because I haven’t got a note in my body?” Nick asks, and Niall gets the impression that Nick’s maybe been mulling this over for a while.

“Neither has Simon,” Niall says, making light of the situation. 

Nick gives him a Look. Niall laughs and reaches out to pat at his shoulder. “You don’t need to be good at singing, just be honest. You’ll be great!”

Nick relaxes under him, his shoulders going loose. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Are you excited?” Niall asks, already knowing the answer. Nick beams at him. That’s answer enough.

*

“I thought we could’ve went golfing,” Niall’s telling Harry from the end of the bed. He’s already decked out in his shorts and t-shirt, ready to go since breakfast. He hasn’t been golfing with Harry in ages -- he thought it’d be nice. 

Harry’s packing everything he’s pulled out of his tour suitcase into a tiny one, like the one his mum always manages to shove everything into when she’s coming over to see him in London. Niall’s never quite sure how she does it but then again, she is tiny.

“I know,” Harry says, putting his knee to the top of the case and stretching for the zipper. Niall watches him in sort of abstract concern -- he’ll throw out his back like this. “But I’ve got a few bits and pieces to sort out. Need to get it done before we head on to America.”

Niall nods. He’s not going to pry. He’s got no idea what ‘bits and pieces’ Harry’s got to sort but he does know that he’s off to London instead of LA this time. He can’t help but feel a bit jealous -- that he’s got someone to sneak off to. Louis’ holding his cards close to his chest at the moment, but Niall’s sure he’s seeing someone, and Sophia’s just flown out to meet up with Liam. Niall doesn’t even have the excuse. 

“Have a nice time,” Niall tells him, getting off the end of the bed. He’s not going to sit and get morose over it -- it’s just something he’s gotten used to. And he doesn’t even think he’s properly bothered -- he doesn’t want to be tied down or settled into anything that feels so much more _adult_ than he is. He’s back on tour, he’s got the world at his fingertips -- he wants to enjoy that. 

But sometimes it can get a bit boring seeing the same people everyday in soundcheck, the monotony of the hotel rooms, how his bandmates -- his bestmates -- seem to be enjoying every part of tour but with the company of somebody else. 

Maybe he would like something -- someone -- more constant to keep going back to, to share everything he gets excited about, to take little trips home and have someone waiting on him. He could go all soft and coy and disappear away to the back of the bus for hour long bedtime conversations or spend all his time planning elaborate dates for his other half. 

It sounds exhausting, but there must be a reason why the other three do it all the time. 

Harry smiles up from where he’s still struggling with the zip. “You can come with me if you want? There’s space on the plane.”

Niall shakes his head. He doesn’t need to be invited back to London. Not when Harry’s just going to disappear on him. It sort of feels like a pity invite even though Harry has no idea what Niall’s thinking inside his head. 

“Nah,” Niall tells him. “I’ve a golf course to scope out.”

“I’ll tell Grim you say hi,” Harry calls after him, flopping back down over his suitcase. Niall’s stomach twists and he forces his feet on outside the hotel room, the door closing with a snap. 

His own hotel room is perfectly cool with air conditioning and he falls flat onto the bed, golf bedamned. 

*

“You’re the only person that knows,” Nick rationalizes to him. “I need to jabber on about it to someone.”

Niall rolls over. Nick gets up entirely too early for this. It’s a Saturday and the first day all week where they haven’t had to be anywhere before three. Niall wants to sleep.

“Why don’t you tell someone else about it then?” Niall asks, muffling his yawn into the pillow beside him. The bed's too big for just him. He sprawls out from where he had been curled at the edge and holds the phone loosely to his ear. He tries to push far back into the pillow so it can hold the phone up instead of his hand. He wants back below his nice warm covers.

“Don’t you want to hear?” Nick asks, and Niall blinks his eyes open to stare at the ceiling. Nick sounds a bit nervous, and Niall cringes. He hadn’t meant to make Nick feel bad.

“I do,” Niall intones. “Just not at –“ he drags his phone away and snorts at himself. “Oh, it’s nearly lunchtime.”

“Yeah!” Nick says indignantly. “Most people have half the day over them by now.”

“Most people don’t get up at five am,” Niall retorts. He’s awake now, knows he won’t be able to get back to sleep as easy. He has no idea why Nick’s phoning him. They’ve got a show later, so Niall supposes that Harry might’ve already left by now. 

“What if people don’t take me seriously?” Nick asks quietly. Niall waits a moment before he answers. He feels like this should be a conversation to have in person, or with his bestest friends – not Niall off of One Direction. Niall clears his throat and tries to push those thoughts to the back of his head.

“Nah, they will.” Niall closes his eyes and can’t help but imagine Nick’s face. He only feels a little bit guilty about it.

*

He hears it on the radio the next morning as they drive to the airport and it makes Niall smile – Nick sounds so happy.

“Hey,” Louis says from the backseat. He’s got his feet up on the console between the passenger and driver’s seat. He kicks at Niall’s elbow. “What’s got you all happy?”

Niall raises an eyebrow, pulls his elbow off the armrest and doesn’t look up from his phone. His thumb hovers over the icon for Twitter -- he could say to him now if he wanted but there’s something in him, a pull down at the bottom of his gut that makes him just tap his messages to Nick instead. He deliberates over a message before just sending him a few confetti emojis. 

“Could see that grin from space,” Louis mutters and goes back to his own phone.

“Just happy you didn’t get the job,” Niall says, throwing a smug smile across his shoulder.

Louis smirks and doesn’t rise to the bait. It’s too early for that. “We’ll see.”

*

Once they’re in America, it’s easy just to throw himself into the tour. Things have been stilted on the road lately; the four of them tiptoeing around the fact that Zayn’s gone. But Niall focuses on the show and the screaming fans when he’s on stage. He tinkers with a guitar in his hotel room, stretches out his knee in gyms across the country and tees off more mornings in a row than he’s ever done. It’s easy.

Nick sends him careless snapchats of his wilting houseplants and of the coffee that saves him after the half eight news. He sees his way around Nick’s flat without ever going back a second time. He becomes acquainted with Pig’s toileting habits more acutely than he would like.

It’s nice, but Niall feels himself lingering on the pictures of his face. The quiet ones, his eyes tired and sallow as he goes to bed and the rough too bright ones when he wakes up. They’re on a different time scale so Niall’ll be settling down to dinner when Nick’s already getting ready to bed, but it feels nice. Connected somehow, when everything else around him isn’t. His finger will linger briefly on his name to replay it, but he always clicks away before he can’t help himself.

They don’t eat together anymore. Which isn’t really something New, but Niall feels it more now Post Zayn. He sits at the same table as he usually does, tucks into his dinner in silence with four empty seats around him more often than not. He flicks through his Instragram, stares at his Facebook feed, ignores Twitter.

He doesn’t mind much. He’d just prefer it different.

He flicks into snapchat again, stomach oddly tight when he finds that he’s left it too long to replay it. All the snapchats this afternoon have been of Pig jumping against the cupboards in his kitchen, feet clacking on the marble floors once she drops down again. Niall isn’t sure why he’s receiving so many of them -- there’s only so many times Niall’ll find it cute.

Niall fiddles with his camera, glances around the dining room. There’s a few new crew off in the corner huddled around cups of iced tea and Basil is stretched out along one of the tattered sofas reading an online copy of the paper.

He always feels strange talking like this. Like he’s talking to no one. He should be used to it from all the announcement videos they have to do in a row, the script sounding staler with every radio station they give a shout out to. Niall tries to make his voice bright, like he’s sending a birthday wish to someone’s sister’s boyfriend’s niece. 

“Send a video of yourself next time,” Niall laughs -- too forced -- into the screen. It takes a moment, the picture jarring for a second before Niall’s message starts to replay. Niall presses send before he can hear his own voice and swallows through his dry mouth as it flicks to a little purple sent arrow.

It feels slightly illicit. Even though he’s doing nothing wrong, he tells himself for the hundredth time. Nick’s just a new friend. Niall’s got plenty of those -- Rory, Steven and Nick. It’s not out of the ordinary for him to find a new friend. He doesn’t have their snapchats though, he doesn’t think of them, fleetingly when he cups a hand around his dick, doesn’t worry what their significant other would think of their friendship. 

NIck supposes that’s why it feels so cloak and dagger -- because he _is_ keeping it all hush hush. 

Harry yells a loud hello to everyone as he comes into the kitchen. Basil startles out of his dose and Harry laughs brightly, slapping his shoulder in apology as he tracks back past him with his breakfast. Niall checks his phone again, sees if the little arrow is still solid purple before locking it and tucking it into his pocket as Harry asks him to pass the milk. 

*

“Do you want to be my guest on Judges’ Houses?” Nick asks him casually over the phone one afternoon. Niall pauses. He’s slightly out of breath, his legs aching. Mark is clearing up at the other side of the gym while Niall warms down, stretching his legs with a slow lap of the mats.

He hasn’t spoken to Nick since before the announcement, nearly an entire month. They’re in America now, kicking off the next leg of the tour. He hadn’t meant it literally when he had told Nick to stop talking to him about the X Factor, but Nick had sort of dropped below the radar, a bright spot for a couple of days between Niall’s hectic schedule. 

“Um,” Niall hums and wipes at his neck. There’s sweat gathered there – Leg Day is always the worst, even if he does spend most of it on his back.

“Come on,” Nick cajoles. “You can strut about in heels and some large leaves. Be my Sinitta, can’t you?”

“Don’t think leaves are my thing,” Niall says. He doesn’t rule out the heels though. He’s still panting and Nick makes a low sound on the other end of the phone. There’re a few moments of silence. Niall bites his lip, wondering what Nick’s thinking about – if it’s the same as Niall. It feels like he’s teetering on dangerous territory and clears his throat suddenly. Not talking to Nick for the past few weeks has clearly made him desperate. “Why don’t you get actual Sinitta?”

Nick makes a _pfft_ noise. “She’ll be with Simon, won’t she?”

“And I’m the next best thing?” Niall asks skeptically. He glances over to where Harry’s on the cross trainer. He’s working up a sweaty sheen over his face. “I’m pretty sure we both know someone who would look great in leaves.”

Nick laughs. “I don’t think I need to give Harry any more encouragement in that department.”

Niall hums in agreement and unscrews the lid of the bottle of water Mark passes him. It’s a bit of struggle with one hand occupied but he makes do – he doesn’t want to miss anything Nick says to him.

“Where do you think you’ll go anyway?” Niall asks because he’s one part nosey and three parts desperate to keep Nick on the phone. He hasn’t heard his voice in a while, he’s been too busy with the time difference to listen to the show live and it’s not quite the same when it’s through iPlayer. Like he’s always one step behind. He gets antsy and ends up fast-forwarding through all the music and it feels much too much like _work_.

“Well that’s the other thing,” Nick says and goes quiet for a moment. “You don’t happen to have a nice mansion someplace nice?”

“Don’t think Hertfordshire will be much of an improvement on Oldham all things considered,” Niall tells him and edges across the gym towards Harry. He’s slowing down to a walk now that Mark’s free. They must be doing some legs today too. They’re both gonna be rubbish at the show later. “I don’t know why you’re pussyfooting around. Here’s Harry. He has a mansion.”

Harry looks up at him, chest heaving as he slows his jog to a brisk walk. Niall holds out the phone. “Grimmy,” Niall says by way of introduction.

Harry’s face lights up as he reaches for the phone. “Nick!” he beams and Niall tries not to feel a bubble of jealousy. Harry can pant all he wants down the phone. It probably riles him all up.

Niall sits by the weight machine, Mark shooting him a warning glare across the gym. Niall waves him off, he’s too sore to attempt anything stupid like the heavy machinery. The water bottle feels cool where he’s jammed it between his thighs, even if it does start to strain his muscles from the effort of keeping them together.

Harry gives his phone back to him after twenty minutes of raucous laughter and flirtatious joking. It’s all sweaty, smeared from being next to Harry’s cheek. Niall wipes it on the side of his shorts.

“See you at the show,” Harry tells him easily. “Well done, you did a good day.”

Niall stares at his back as he heads over to Mark and shakes his head. He can hardly pretend to hate Harry when he’s so nice to him.

He’s not even the length of the lifts when his phone dings. He glances down, rubs his thumb over a smear that’s turned the screen a shiny pixelated purple and green.

**Offer still stands. Even if it’s some other popstars’ mansion.**

Niall finds himself grinning as he presses his thumb to the button for the lift. It takes him five floors to think of something to say back and hits send just as the doors ding open.

**start pruning your bush**

*

“What is wrong with everyone today?” Niall asks when he sits down in front of his laptop and sees Nick’s face flicker on screen. He’s got a plain t-shirt on and he’s a little sweaty. Niall feels a twinge of irritation – he and Mark can’t hit the gym today because it’s been invaded by skinny-jeaned tweens.

“Oh, dear,” Nick intones, cocking his head to the side. He looks a bit flushed still. Niall sighs out, tries to push away his pent up frustration. He wonders if his skin would feel as flushed as it looks. “Rough day at the office?”

Niall hums. He shouldn’t really talk about it -- especially not to Nick considering he’s got the most visible radio show on the BBC. He supposes he’ll find out anyway off of Harry, but that’s his business who he tells. 

Niall’s been stuck in meetings all day, conference calls to London and on the phone to his lawyers -- his new ones that are only looking after him. He wonders how much hassle it was for his parents to separate all those years ago -- him and the boys aren’t married but it feels like he’s divorcing them all. 

“Just been cooped up all day,” Niall explains, feeling his shoulders loosen with the opportunity to _vent_. Not that Nick wants to hear about it. “Wanted to get out to hike but it’s too busy outside and we can’t go to the gym because it’s too _busy,_ and it just feels fucking frustrating to go back to this same fucking hotel room.”

Nick raises his eyebrows. “Tragic life you lead, Horan.”

Niall glares at him, eyeing the actual camera above the screen. “I still can’t believe you can’t pronounce my name right.”

Nick laughs brightly and Niall sags into the hardbacked chair at the desk.

“Sorry,” Nick says sincerely. “I’ll work on that. Mr Hor-ran.”

Niall laughs quietly and lifts a pen to doodle on the edge of the fancy headed paper left on the table top. 

“What did you want me for then?” Niall asks, glancing up to where Nick’s still reclined at his kitchen table. 

“It’s the first round of auditions tomorrow,” Nick says, his face going pink. Niall smiles and hopes it looks encouraging. 

“Don’t really think I have much advice for you,” Niall says with a wince. 

Nick shakes his head. “I don’t know what to _wear_.”

Suddenly he jostles, the entire screen tipping as he lifts the laptop off the kitchen table. Niall watches as the kitchen spins and then all he sees is the black of Nick’s t-shirt before he’s suddenly in Nick’s bedroom. 

It’s disorientating for a moment, and Niall has to look away at the bland painting of ducks on the wall so he doesn’t get sea-sick. He waits a second, just to be sure that Nick’s set him down for good.

“What about this?” Nick asks and disappears off screen. There’s a faint thumping, just audible enough to be picked up by his speakers. Niall finds himself hitting his volume button -- just in case he misses anything. 

Niall’s never been in Nick’s bedroom but it looks nice, even through the slightly pixelated Skype screen. There’s plenty of art on the walls, which Niall expected – it looks completely different to Niall’s grey, grey, and more grey decor. It looks lived in.

The screen flickers a little as Nick comes into frame, his shirt half buttoned so Niall can see the hair on his chest. It’s blurry because the feed is so bad, but he can still see it. Niall sits up in his chair. 

“Looks good,” Niall promises him.

“Are you sure?” Nick asks. Niall wants to push his thumb into the middle of his frown. He looks so worried all of a sudden and Niall knows it’s not about his wardrobe -- he’s probably had that sorted for weeks.

“Yes,” Niall says, dragging it out into a hiss. “You always look good.”

Nick makes a little flustered wave of his hand and then disappears off camera. Niall barks out a laugh, slapping his hand over his mouth and thanking God that Nick can’t see him at the moment. He feels slightly like an over excited school child. He hasn’t seen Nick’s face in days and he seems so bright and unaffected by all the shit that’s going down in Niall’s camp. 

Nick appears back on screen a moment later in a different shirt, and Niall tamps down the growing guilt that’s seeping up like damp through him. Harry should be the one to do this, shouldn’t he? 

This one is a garish yellow floral number and it makes Nick look like he’s walking down the Magaluf strip rather than onto national television.

“Not a fan,” Niall says immediately. It makes him glow like a buttercup. “You look buttery.”

Nick laughs, his hand on the hem and dragging it up slightly. “Like butter wouldn’t melt, you mean?” Nick suggests, but he’s already backing off towards the bed again.

Nick still fussing with something at the end of the bed and Niall keeps flicking his eyes back to him, just to make sure he doesn't miss anything. Nick makes a noise and then he’s pulling his shirt up, as if he’s forgetting that Niall’s just across the room on the computer. 

Niall feels his mouth go dry -- Nick can’t have forgotten. It makes him feel a bit like a voyeur. Like he’s spying on him. It makes his stomach twist, not completely uncomfortable. 

Niall tries his best to distract himself. He glances over the frames on the wall, trying his hardest to work out who they are. Nick’s still there, shirtless with his shorts slung low on his hips. He has a hand on the front of them, as if he’s wearing jeans and about to pop the button. _Fuck._

Nick’s shorts hit the ground with little flourish and Niall sits back, aware of the box in the bottom of screen that nearly has his entire face pressed into it. He clears his throat, loud enough for Nick to hear. 

He doesn’t seem bothered though, glancing over his shoulder before walking slowly back off screen towards his wardrobe again. Niall closes his eyes, composes himself, and when he opens his eyes again Nick’s back in view, a purple shirt pulled tight over his chest. He’s got the top two buttons undone and his hair is all aflop over his forehead. He’s still in only his boxers.

“Yeah,” Niall says, nodding his head already. Nick looks gorgeous, still bright from whatever he was doing before he came on the computer. “That one.”

Nick smiles at him, sinking down onto the stool he has by his dressing room table. “Purple it is.”

*

“You’re not like,” Niall says as he walks into his kitchen. “Catfishing me are you?”

Nick snorts on the other end of the phone. “It’s been a ploy all along,” he says. “I don’t really exist. My name is Nicola and I’m just trying to fill a void in my life.”

Niall laughs, reaching for his kettle and flicking it on before moving away so he doesn’t have to talk over it. “So how is it? Settling in?”

Nick’s in Manchester, taking a few days off to go up and see his parents in between the nights he’s filming auditions. Niall’s slightly peeved that he’s all the way up there when Niall’s finally in London. Not that he really has any say in what Nick does. 

And Niall’s only there for less than a day. Hardly anytime at all. He just really wants that drink.

“Oh yes,” Nick’s answering. “They've got me a chair with my name on it and everything. It feels very Hollywood.”

Niall snorts. “Who knew you were so easily pleased. Could’ve just got a few iron on letters and plonked you in front of the telly.”

Nick laughs, nice and loud and Niall finds himself grinning at the photo behind his toaster. Photo-Nick is Zoolander levels of serious but he’s still giggling on the other side of the phone. “Would’ve saved a bit of trouble,” he agrees. “Could’ve wore my pants and everything.”

“Well you still could do. Take the nation’s attention off your terrible shirts,” Niall quips back. “What one are you wearing today?”

“A nice little khaki number,” Nick answers immediately. “Suits my skin tone.”

“Suits your chair,” Niall says and Nick’s quiet for a moment. Niall feels a flush of warmth on his neck as Nick doesn’t get his joke. “Like your chair. A khaki chair,” he explains quickly.

Nick snorts loudly, Niall’s stomach drops. “Canvas you mean. Oh, Niall. This is one for the radio.”

“Fuck off,” Niall says. He feels a hot throb of embarrassment but Nick’s still laughing softly and it sounds nice. “You can’t say that on the radio. I’ll get chairs thrown at me on stage.”

Nick spends entirely too long laughing. He’s still giggling as Niall sticks his phone onto his shoulder to pull the plastic ring off the edge of the milk. “It’ll not matter,” Nick says. “Everything _does_ match my chair.”

“Oh here we go,” Niall mutters, happy to have sort of moved on from his fuck up. “Won’t shut up about it now, eh?”

“It _is_ like a territorial thing though, isn’t it?” Nick says, voice going a little questioning. He sounds more serious now. “Like back off. That’s Nick’s chair. _Mine_.”

“You’ll be writing your name on everything soon,” Niall says, mouth going a little dry. His kettle clicks off and he pulls a mug off the mug-tree. “Bottles of water, signing the soles of your shoes.”

Nick laughs. “Stamp my name on some young attractive singers while I’m at it.”

Niall chips the corner of his mug when he nearly drops it against the counter, his hand slamming down with the shock of what Nick’s saying. Nick hardly notices, babbling on about Rita or Simon or whatever. Niall’s not listening – he’s too busy thinking about Nick’s name emblazoned right over his forehead. N I C K.

Niall swallows. That’d never happen. And he doesn’t even want it to because he’d look fucking ridiculous walking around with that tattooed on his face but he likes the idea of them sharing something together. Of something just he’d have with Nick. Like a shared tattoo.

Harry’s face flashes into his mind and Niall feels cold with it. He has to stop this. It’s not going to be healthy when he gets back on the road and has to deal with spending all of his time with Harry while he’s still harbouring a crush on his boyfriend.

Niall clears his throat. “Hey, I have to go.”

He doesn’t, but his tea is getting cold and if he stays on any longer with Nick he knows he’ll never want to come off the phone with him.

“Okay,” Nick hums and Niall’s imagining the way he sounds disappointed. What’s Nick got to be disappointed with? He’s on stage in twenty minutes for another batch of contestants.

“See you later, Niall-Pop,” Nick rings off. Niall stands there long enough for his water to grow cold anyway.

*

“Oh, you should see the fancy hotel they’ve put me up in this time,” Nick says down the phone. He sounds echo-y, like he’s in a tunnel or down a well.

“Oh yeah?” Niall asks, glancing around his own hotel room. It doesn’t feel like half a day since he’s last seen him. Niall’s half way across the world now. He supposes he’s grown used to the fancy fittings and fixtures that make his room that much more special than the one from the Premier Inn across the street.

“Fancy marble bath and gold taps. Gold taps, Niall!”

Ah, that explains the echo then. Niall’s well versed in the acoustics of a good bathroom from their rushed vocal warm-ups before events. Sometimes they all cram into the smallest dressing room when they’re feeling particularly rusty, but mostly it’s not needed as much now.

“I think I’d try and wear this dressing gown down the road. It’s so fluffy. I feel like a proper popstar,” Nick chitchats down the phone. “Might give the slippers to my mum though. Like walking on cushions.” Niall can hear a splash of water and then Nick’s nervous giggle. “Whoops, nearly lost you down the plug hole.”

Niall sits up on the bed, as if that’ll let him hear better. He presses his phone to his ear and asks, “Are you having a piss on the phone to me?”

Nick snorts sharply. “No, I’m running a bath. I don’t think we’re at that point yet.”

He didn’t really think they were at any point at all. His stomach twists with a little bit of hopeful anticipation. Niall swallows. _Harry_. “Aye, you better not be.”

Nick laughs softly but doesn’t say anything for a moment. Niall’s content to listen to him rustle about the bathroom.

“You still there?” Nick asks after a stretch of just him plodding about the bathroom. Niall hums. He’d nearly been dropping off to sleep, his sleep schedule fucked up from jetting across the Atlantic twice in as many days. “Aw,” Nick chides softly. “Do you want to go and nap? I’m only running a bath, love. Nothing too exciting.”

Niall shakes his head, mussing up his hair even though Nick can’t see. He likes having him on the other end of the phone. Somehow connected even though they’re so far away. “No,” Niall says, forcing himself to waken up so it doesn’t come out all slurred. “I like it.”

Nick pauses. “You do?”

He sounds so shocked that Niall has to rewind the conversation in his head and rethink what he’s said. He doesn’t think he’s said anything too out of the blue. He swallows. This is the daunting bit. The putting himself out there bit. “Yeah,” he says, almost shyly.

Nick laughs brightly. “Ok,” he says. His voice sounds even more echoy and Niall suspects he’s been put on loudspeaker. It must mean that Nick’s _in_ the bath. The thought makes Niall flush a little. “Well I’d like it too. I mean I do have some dashing candles lit. You can nearly see them below the mountain of bubbles.”

Niall finds himself meaning it as he says, off the cuff, “Fuck, I wish I was there.”

They’re quiet for a few more moment while Niall tries to think of something to say. He doesn’t want the silence to turn stale.

“A bath, I mean,” he says hastily. Nick’s still quiet and Niall presses his phone to his ear to make sure the line hasn’t went dead. 

“I’d like that too,” Nick’s voice says, sounding very far away. An Atlantic Ocean away.

*

“Who’re you texting?” Niall asks, kicking his feet up to rest on the seat opposite him. Harry’s already sitting there, legs splayed and a hand resting on his hip as he texts one-handed with the other. He’s got this little grin on his face that Niall’s started to equate with Nick. A Grimmy Grin.

“No one,” Harry shrugs and Niall’s stomach sinks. It’s never good when Harry’s being secretive. It normally means that it’s somewhat serious.

“Got some new fancy woman?” Niall asks. He’s pushing a bit but he just wants Harry to be honest with him for once. 

Harry glances up, his eyebrow quirked. He licks his lips. “Something like that.”

Niall nods and settles back into the leather chair. Niall hates this bit. When he’s on a commercial flight he has plenty of things to distract him with – fixing the air-con and watching other people loading onto the plane. Here, on a private, all he’s got is Harry to take his mind off taking off.

“What –“ Harry starts but his mouth drops open slightly and he starts tapping away on his phone again. Niall waits for him to catch up, his fingers tapping his irritation out against the leather hand rest. It takes him until the plane starts to taxi onto the runway to speak again. “Are your plans?”

Niall blinks at him, waits until Harry finally looks up from his phone before answering. “Plans for what?”

“Break,” Harry says. The _d’uh_ remains silent.

“Oh,” Niall mutters and shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing really. Need to get back into the gym. Probably golf a bit.”

“You should come up to the house,” Harry says and he’s back to scrolling through his phone. “X Factor starts filming this weekend and I was going to have a dinner on the Friday night. I’m sure Nick’d love to see you.”

Niall swallows and glances down at his own phone. They’ll have to turn them off in a minute for take off. “I didn’t know you were actually going to do that.”

Harry shrugs and pockets his phone. He hardly looks at Niall though, reclining in his chair and closing his eyes. Niall knows he’ll be asleep in minutes.

“Dinner,” Niall says quietly, mostly to himself. He’s not sure if he should go or not. He’d like to see Nick but he knows that he shouldn’t be thinking about him. “Would be nice.”

“Ace,” Harry mumbles, already half asleep.

*

“So, I don’t suppose you’ve got any surprise offspring hiding in the closet?” Nick asks. Niall’s slowly getting used to it – the way Nick answers the phone and he’s already in the middle of a conversation. It’s nice like that sometimes, to be able to launch straight in so there’s no stilted air around them but sometimes it takes Niall a moment to catch up. But he hadn’t quite been expecting that.

Niall nearly chokes on the mouthful of water he’s just drunk. “No,” he assures him. He can already hear Nick’s smile. He’d need to sleep with someone for that to happen. “You need to sleep with someone for that to happen.”

It goes deathly still. Niall feels like he’s had the air taken right out of his lungs because _who says that?_

Niall clears his throat roughly. “Uh,” he says eloquently.

Nick snuffles and then his voice in a bright cheerful. “Well, at least there’s no Horan sprogs about.”

Niall closes his eyes, tries not to wish for the earth to swallow him up too hard. “Not that I know about, anyway.” He waits a moment and then blurts out everything because he needs to claw this conversation back somehow. “And it’s not that I haven’t slept with someone –“ Niall laughs nervously. Wonders why he’s still talking. He can’t find it in himself to shut up. “But like with a girl –“

 _Fuck_. Niall snaps his mouth shut.

Nick _hmms_ and Niall knows he’s went and stuck his foot in it.

There’s a long moment of silence before Niall finally breaks it, the tension growing the longer he stays quiet. “So how’s X Factor?”

“Oh,” Nick says and Niall hates that he can nearly imagine the way he’s smiling when he says it. “There’s this group,” Nick babbles and Niall can slowly feel the awkwardness bleed away.

“Yeah?” Niall responds. There’s also times where Nick just needs someone to talk _at_ rather than with. To let it all out. Niall can be that for him. He sets his elbow on the table, his sleeve slipping a bit on the shiny blue polka dot cover and holds the phone to his ear.

“Yeah,” Nick keeps going. It sounds like he’s walking somewhere, his breathing a little bit elevated and the wind whipping around the phone speaker. “And they remind me so much of you lot. They’re hyper one hundred percent of the time. There’s a little one on the end –“ Nick pauses to laugh a little bit and Niall smiles at the sound. He sounds happy. Niall loves it.

“A little one on the end and if they dyed his hair blond he’d just be like you,” Nick says, still chuckling. “I hope I get them as my category, I’d have him whisked off to the hairdresser as soon as I could. He’ll be so cute.”

Niall pauses, his hand hovering over his bowl. He takes a breath. “Cute, eh?”

Nick goes uncharacteristically quiet on the other end just enough that the wind whistles down the phone. Maybe they’ve both stuck their foot in it tonight. Niall tries to swallow down the butterflies.

“Uhm,” Nick pauses and then raises his voice. “Oh no, Pig. I’ve got to go. Pig’s just done a huge –“

“Alright, alright,” Niall cuts him off, ducking his head to hide his grin. He feels the urge to hide his smile to keep it all to himself. “That’s a bit too much information.”

“Talk to you later,” Nick says quickly. He pauses again, like he’s going to say something else. Niall presses his phone to his ear until the plastic cover digs into his ear. And then Nick hangs up the phone.

*

He hikes up Runyon on his own this time, leaving early enough that no one really notices him sneaking out of the hotel. It feels refreshing to be out in the open air without Basil or Mark or someone else he’s hired to hang out with him. He hasn’t really slept properly, the five star hotel bed too soft for his back. For the first time in months, he’s had that indescribable longing for home, something settling deep down in his belly that won’t be satisfied by a phone call home or a bowl of Sarah’s stew.

It’s warm but not roasting as he jogs, music blasting in his ears to take his mind off just heading for the airport. He’s still not sure if he should go tonight. There’s part of him -- a silly little part of him -- that wants to see Nick again, but it’s against his better judgment.

He’s at the top when his phone buzzes. He has most of his notifications off, so he stops in case it’s important, chest heaving as he swipes his lockscreen away.

It’s a snapchat from Grimmy and Niall doesn’t hesitate to open it, suddenly desperate to see his face. He’s grinning into the camera, his hair wilting over his head but he still looks beautiful, skin soft and tired around the eyes. The caption covers half his chin -- **hopped off the plane at LAX**.

Niall turns to trek back down the hill, decision easily made.

 

*

His morning run has left Niall an embarrassing shade of red across the bridge of his nose and forehead so he dons something bright from the bottom of his suitcase that Niall definitely did not pack there to offset it. He fluffs at his hair, deliberating in the mirror for twenty minutes whether to style it up or just leave it sweeping across his forehead. He sort of settles for somewhere down the middle, running his fingers through it enough times that it’ll look effortlessly coiffed.

He brings a bottle of wine from the hotel bar; picks the third most expensive one because he knows very little about wine but assumes that’s what people do at dinner parties. He realizes it’s been redundant by the time he gets to Harry’s because Harry has set his table for twenty-five.

“Holy shit,” Niall says eloquently once he’s walked into the back garden and sees the length of the table spreading across the entire back of the house. The sun’s just setting so it’s still a bit hard to see the candles that Harry’s got floating in his pool but he’s set flowers in there too, big bright things that look pretty across the surface of the water until dusk properly settles.

Harry snorts from the patio steps. “I know.”

The table is laden with glasses and silverware, fancy candle sticks that he hasn’t lit yet and more bunches of flowers in fancy vases. Niall wonders if they’re even going to film this because it looks too pretty to waste.

Harry, he realises, takes on a different persona when he’s in hosting mode. He’s not sure if Harry’s doing it to impress Nick or to impress the wide-eyed contestants but he looks impressive all the same, standing beside the pool as night falls welcoming them all to his home. He’s wearing some garish velvet jacket over a black shirt that’s missing half its buttons as he busies himself handing out flutes of champagne and introducing them all to his bartender. Much to Niall’s dismay, Nick looks pride of place beside him, all dressed up in tight jeans and a neck scarf the same shade of crimson as Harry’s jacket. Niall wants to set his teeth into Nick’s thighs. 

It turns out they do film parts of it. They set Nick up against the backdrop of Harry’s view of LA and get him to announce Harry. The contestants all clap and cheer, pretending that it’s a complete surprise that they’ve ended up at Harry Styles’s mansion.

Niall stays on the fringes, smiling at a few of the girls who give him second looks and dodging any possibility of being caught on camera. The kitchen is busy with some crew and the team of caterers that Harry’s hired for the dinner. They’ve got dish upon dish all lined up across the marble island and Niall stands and watches, feeling a bit useless as they start plating up beautiful entrées.

He rams the bottle of wine into the rack beside the fridge and by the time he takes Harry up on his offer of a free bar, half the guests have settled in their seats.

“Don’t worry,” Nick says in his ear making Niall jump. He spills half his drink over his wrist and onto the floor but Nick doesn’t seem to notice. “You’re over with me and Mr Harry Hefner.”

It’s the first words he’s spoken to Niall all evening and he tucks them away, deep down, just for the way they make him shiver. Nick places a hand on Niall’s shoulder, his thumb a firm pressure on the space between Niall’s shoulder blade and his arm. Niall nearly goes limp with it, his muscles relaxing immediately into Nick’s big hand as Nick steers him towards the end of the table. Harry’s standing talking to one of the contestants, a younger bloke with a scruffy, barely-there beard and crap blond highlights but he moves to the side to let Nick have the head of the table.

“Surprised we don’t have little place settings,” Nick says, loud enough for Harry to hear. His hand is still on Niall’s shoulder, an obvious weight nearly sending him off kilter when Niall laughs.

“And little gifts, like at weddings,” Niall agrees. He can do this bit, the familiar shit talking that takes away from the formality of it all. Plus, he’s made Nick grin and Niall hates to think of it as keeping score but. 

He licks over his wrist, tasting the sharpness of lemon from his drink and follows Nick with his eyes as he walks to the opposite side of the table.

“You’re supposed to be at the head,” Harry hisses at him when Nick settles on the end seat. There’s a fluffy head of sweet pea just by Nick’s chin.

“A problem I have all the time,” Nick agrees luridly, and Harry’s already laughing, slithering down into the seat at the head of the table. They share a weighted look and Niall laughs a bit too loudly, but he keeps his eyes down so he doesn’t know if anyone notices.

He can feel his nerves treble as the table quietens down to eat. This had been a bad idea -- the past few weeks have been manageable because he’s had his time with Nick and it’s been utterly distinct from Harry. But now he’s sitting within two feet of both of them. Niall feels a bit sick. 

“I’ve become mean about everything,” Nick warns, shaking out his napkin. Niall can’t help noticing his long fingers.

It feels like they’re in a restaurant but not. It’s weird – to be in Harry’s _home_ and bewaited on hand and foot. Niall runs his finger around the rim of his wine glass and wishes it was something stronger. 

“Oh yeah?” Harry asks, fitting his knees under the end of the table. His foot knocks Niall’s so he moves it away, but a few seconds later Harry does it again. It lingers for a moment, like Harry’s contemplating running his toe up against Niall’s ankle. Niall stares at the flower arrangement as his stomach twists. Harry must think it’s Nick’s foot.

“Yeah,” Nick says, smiling and completely unaware at Harry’s misdirected flirting. “I’m like really judgemental about everything now.” He’s already laughing, reaching for his glass. “Like this wine.” He pauses for effect, and Niall’s heard this before as Nick jokes, leaning forward and looking faux pensive. “It’s not good. It’s _great_.”

Harry laughs brightly, but Niall stomach folds in on itself. He doesn’t think he can describe it as proper jealousy – he’s heard the story before, but with a tired strain to Nick’s voice and crackled by three thousand miles of phone line. It hadn’t been a joke then either -- it had been a genuine worry that Nick had turned into a Nasty Nick bastard of a judge. 

He’d’ve been silly to think that Nick hasn’t told it to everyone he knows. He’s probably said it on the show at one point, in that bit where Niall always manages to nod off between a song and Nick’s banter with Tina over the news. He’d be delusional to cling onto the thought that he’d been the only one.

Niall swallows his not-good-but-great wine and sets the glass to the side to be refilled again. He could get used to the waiters in his back garden he thinks, if they always come with free booze.

Harry’s foot snags against Niall’s again and Niall grunts, kicks him swiftly back.

“Ow,” Nick says sharply. Harry glances up, shifting his perplexed gaze between them.

“Sorry,” Niall apologises roughly. Harry grins, ducking his head and looking intently at his plate. Niall feels like a dickhead, his cheeks heating up. He’s grateful there’s no cameras on them right now.

Nick cocks his head to the side, eyebrows dipping down into a frown. Niall hastily raises his hand to get another drink.

“That’s ok,” Nick says softly, and there’s a beat before he launches into another story.

Niall’s tip to the barman keeps his glass full throughout the meal, making it easier to offer aimless advice to the pair of sixteen year olds beside him. Mark and Paul are best friends from just south of Leeds and have one-hundred-and-one questions for Niall. What’s touring like? What’s the first thing he bought with his money? What does it feel like to be really famous? They hang on his every word and Niall feels a queasy sort of complacency answering them. Somewhere after the main meal Niall wonders, fleetingly, if he’s past his peak. He can remember being this excited – Mark and Paul are nearly buzzing out of their seats – but it seems duller now, faded in a way that’s becoming uncomfortably familiar. Their eyes light up when the caterers appear with another course and Niall swallows another gulp of his drink as he realises that this isn’t out of the ordinary for him now. Harry’s caterers have lost their impressiveness. His five star hotel has lost its sparkle.

Niall pushes his dessert away from him, turning to his drink instead. Harry’s licking chocolate off a spoon and Niall has to turn away from the way he’s licking his lips. Nick is watching, his expression neutral but eyebrows dipped a little. It’s a little unnerving, like Niall’s being scrutinized but the only thing Niall can think to do is just to stare back. 

The acts all filter out and Niall smiles as Paul and Matt say goodbye, but doesn’t get up from his seat. Nick is best mates with half of them already, trooping into the house after them to make sure they all get to the cars alright. 

“You especially thirsty today?” Harry asks as Niall gets another refill. Niall tries not to glare at him. His face feels like it’s on fire, his sunburn properly kicking in. 

“Dehydrated,” Niall tells him. He isn’t trying to be a dick but it’s setting him on edge, the way Harry keeps sending him expectant looks as if he’s waiting for Niall to disappear off so he can have Nick all to himself. 

A stubborn part of him wants to sit there all night and make it hard for Harry, but he knows how much of shit friend he’s being. 

“Sunstroke more like,” Harry says, his mouth turning up into a grin. He reaches forward, presses his knuckles against the hot skin between Niall’s eyes. His rings feel deliciously cool despite being warmed up from his fingers. 

Niall swallows. It feels like he’s being fussed over and Harry’s hands smell of langoustines and something floral. Niall’s mouth floods with saliva as he tries not to gag. 

“Right,” Nick says when he appears back onto the patio. He’s dropped a button on his shirt and has a thumb on the cork of another bottle of Prosecco. “Let’s get the party started, eh?”

Harry snorts. “And look horrendously hungover on camera tomorrow?”

“That’s my look!” Nick laughs. Niall lets out an involuntary yelp as the cork pops into the air. Nick laughs brightly, leaning away as the bubbles froth out of the top. 

Nick takes a drink out of the bottle and Niall watches, shamelessly, as he unwraps his lips from the neck of the bottle, shiny and wet. He passes it to Harry, who takes a gulp and then laughs. 

“We should go for a swim,” Harry suggests, and Nick’s face lights up. 

“This better not mess up my spray tan,” Nick comments, already stripping off his shirt. “Got it done special so no one would know that I just flew in this morning.” 

Niall’s mouth goes slightly dry. He looks good, shadowed by candlelight as he kicks out of his jeans too. He reaches for Harry and the bottle of Prosecco. 

“It won’t,” Harry promises as if he knows what he’s talking about. Niall doesn’t even call him out on his bullshit like he usually would because he doesn’t want to stop him getting into the pool. Harry trades off the bottle and then takes a step back towards the pool. “Are you coming in?”

Niall shakes his head. He feels sleepy and shaky, his skin a touch too hot. He’d slide under the water and not want to come out. He holds the bottle to the inside of his wrists and lets the condensation cool them down.

“I’m good,” Niall tells them, settling back into one of Harry’s reclining chairs. 

“Niall’s always good,” Nick says from the pool. He’s already soaked, water up to his chin. He gives Niall a sly smile and then sinks under. 

Harry laughs, flopping into the pool with a splash and when he emerges, Nick’s got his hand slung around his shoulder and they’re laughing into each other's necks. They giggle together and splash about as Niall gets through another two inches of the Prosecco before there’s a knock at the door and it’s the caterer. 

“Coming,” Harry promises, dragging himself up out of the pool. Niall watches Nick watch him. “Cheer up,” Harry says, flicking his hair at him as he heads off back inside into the house. 

Niall flips him off, jerking away as Nick retreats back into the pool to a very serious few laps without Harry to play with, his arms pulling out of the water before and catching the low lamp light. The pool is nearly glistening, and when Niall blinks, the candles dance where his eyes have gone blurry. 

“You okay?” Nick asks him. Niall blinks his eyes open again to stare at him. 

“Yeah.” He still feels too hot -- the heat from the pool and the faux warmth he’s getting from the alcohol. He’d like to kiss Nick like this -- taste the chlorine off his lips. 

Niall’s on his feet before he really think about it, the bottle of Prosecco tipping over on the granite tiles with a dull, hollow clunk. It fizzes around his toes but Niall just steps over it towards the pool. 

Nick stares up at him, his neck stretched so Niall can see every single time his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. 

Niall knows. Knows that this is more than a whimsical crush. Nick blinks up at him, mouth opening slightly. His bottom lip looks plump and perfect. When Niall meets his eye -- 

He knows that Nick knows too.

*

Niall wakes up with his mouth open against the pillow. He groans first because it’s the only thing he can do that fully vocalises the pain his mouth, stomach and head is in.

Harry’s guest room is almost aggressively white, bright sunshine bouncing off the blank wall beside the bed and making everything too vivid. Niall closes his eyes and feels an intense wave of nausea. 

There’s already too much noise echoing through the house for whatever time it is. Niall drags himself to the edge of the bed. He’s stripped down to boxers and he can’t really remember how he got here. Sunlight streams through the window and he groans again, feeling pathetic. 

Harry’s shower has too many buttons for Niall to fully comprehend in this state, so he stands under a lukewarm dribble of water until he can face getting dressed. _Fuck_. Niall most definitely wasn’t meant to get that drunk last night. He can still see Nick’s expression when he closes his eyes, his face thrown back and wet from the pool. There’s a silly pink petal clinging to his hair.

He wants to stay in the safety of the shower all day, but it’s getting ever louder outside and his face is starting to burn sharply under the water. It feels tight, his sunburn looking violent when he glimpses in the mirror long enough to check it. 

The rest of him looks pale and washed out as he dons a dark t-shirt that he finds at the back of the sparse guest wardrobe. He could nearly blend in with the white walls except for the bright stripe of red across the apples of his cheeks. 

It’s busy outside the door, men in timberlands and cropped combat shorts laying cables up and down Harry’s elaborate staircase. People are testing cameras and microphones and PA systems. It’s loud, a drone of buzzing and _testing, 1, 2, 3, testing_ as they set it all up. 

“Morning,” Nick says, voice scratchy when Niall makes it to the kitchen. He’s got a bottle of water under his arm but is holding a lumpy smoothie in his hand. It looks like it’s been there for a while and he offers it to Niall with a slight hopeful look on his face. “It’s got blueberries in.”

It doesn't look very blueberry-esque. “No, ta,” Niall says and sits down on one of Harry’s fancy stools at his island. He can hear talking in the foyer and he knows that most of the crew have landed since Niall had his mid-morning crisis in the shower.

“You feeling rough?” Nick asks, softly. Niall glances at him. He wonders where Harry is. Wonders where Nick slept last night. He reaches into Harry’s fridge, sighing at the cool air against his face. He could stay in there all morning, he thinks. 

Nick doesn’t say anything else, just pats Niall’s shoulder, his palm lingering. Niall can feel the heat of it through the thin material of his shirt and he sighs again, closing his eyes on the rows of bottled water and tubs of Greek yoghurt in Harry’s fridge. 

And then he’s gone. 

*

 

It isn’t really long until Niall gets roped into getting into something ridiculous on camera. Harry takes pity on him and unearths real bacon from somewhere and some real bread so by lunchtime he’s feeling a bit better. 

He humours Rochelle and lets her interview him for Xtra all trussed up in one of Harry’s joke aprons and one of the producers have already mentioned to him for doing a tour of the house with Caroline and Olly later. She had waved a hand vaguely about it being too awkward for Harry to do it but every time he spots Caroline in Harry’s back garden she’s in fits of laughter over something Nick or Harry have said so he doesn’t really think it’d be a problem.

“Come on then,” Rochelle says, sliding into one of Harry’s high backed chairs he’s got pushed up to his island. She sets her elbow on the marble counter and her chin in her hand and blinks expectantly at him. “Fill me in. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Niall shrugs, the apron catching slightly at his collar. He’s still got it on because he was considering making himself busy and starting on lunch even though Harry’s got enough caterers in to feed five thousand. He might try his hand at cocktails instead, even though his stomach doesn’t quite feel up to it yet. 

“Nothing really to say,” Niall says, biting his tongue on gushing to her all about the huge crush he’s been harbouring. It doesn’t feel gushy at all - more like a torrid little secret at this point.

Rochelle’s face tightens slightly. “We’re not on camera now, Niall. Come on.”

Niall laughs. “You’re a nosey reporter now, Roch. Maybe I’m never off the record.” He only means it a little bit – it’s not something he likes to think about a lot.

Rochelle pulls another face, but she reaches out to swat at his arm playfully. “You know you can always tell me anything. I worry about you sometimes, you know. I need to see you with some pretty thing on your arm soon.”

“Ain’t getting any younger, eh?” Niall asks and busies himself with rummaging around Harry’s freezer to find the ice. He doesn’t notice that Rochelle’s gotten up until she touches his arm.

“You know I don’t mean that,” Rochelle says lightly as she tugs him into a hug. Niall sinks into it. It feels homey and mumsy. It’s been awhile since he’s been hugged like this.

“I know,” Niall assures her. He settles his hands on her back and she jerks from how cold they are. “Sorry.”

Rochelle smiles at him as they pull away. “You’ll get there sometime.”

Niall nods and pastes on a smile. He doesn't really want to be having this conversation -- it scrapes a bit too close to home at the minute. “Go on, I’m sure there’s some contestant you have to terrorise.”

Rochelle laughs. “Melvin, more like. Where’s he got to?”

*

The producer appears after they’ve broken for lunch and Niall can tell by her expression that he’s not particularly going to enjoy whatever she’s got planned. She presents a GoPro to him and a very tight looking strap.

“Where’s this going?” Niall asks her skeptically.

“Around your head,” she says, as if it’s perfectly clear where it’s going.

“You know that this isn’t my house, don’t you?” Niall asks her lightly. “That it’s Harry and Nick that should be doing this?”

She laughs and tugs the strap over his head. “Just following my orders.”

Niall frowns and wonders who has been setting him up to all these silly skits for the telly. It feels like Niall’s right back on X Factor again and not five years out of it. He’d been happy to sit at the other side of the pool on a lounger, drinking his too-citrus-whisky-something that he’s concocted by the jug and watching the contestants audition for Nick and Harry.

Harry appears in the doorway a few moments later, his own camera strapped around his forehead. “Niall! You ready for hide and seek?”

Niall shakes his head, the strap growing tighter around his head as someone knots it. “Should’ve known you’d think up something ridiculous.”

There’s a tech poking at his head now and Niall wonders how many people Harry’s managed to pack into his mansion. He doesn’t remember it being this big before. Someone is touching up Harry’s make up and Niall sighs; he’s grown pink from sitting in the sun and he’s only wearing a flimsy t-shirt. He’ll look sweaty and tired from the sun in all the footage but still nowhere as bad as Niall looks everytime he catches himself in the chrome front of the oven, his face distorted like in a house of mirrors.

“Alright,” the producer says, clapping Niall on the shoulder. “You’re good to go.”

Niall doesn’t get the offer of a makeup touch-up.

“What am I doing?” Niall asks as a cameraman appears to get a shot of him all rigged up. Harry comes to stand beside him, slinging his arm around him, and Niall can’t help but smile. It is pretty funny.

Harry natters on to the camera about how it’s a One D competition. There’s supposed to be contestants around Harry’s house, hiding, and Niall and Harry make a big show of counting down from ten for the camera.

Harry shoves him into the island as soon as they’re off, someone sounding a tinny klaxon off their phone. Niall laughs, jerking away from him and heading for the door.

“You have an unfair advantage!” Niall yells after him as he starts off through one of the three huge reception rooms this side of the house. Harry’s laugh echoes off the huge white ceilings.

Niall feels a bit like a plonker running through the house. It’s emptied out slightly as people crowd around the craft table set up in the front garden, soaking up some of the sun during their break, but there’s huge trunks lying everywhere like some of their equipment is carried in on tour, and Niall stops to check in them. He knows from experience that it’s not all that hard to squeeze into one.

He lifts the lid on three of them before he hears a yell from the floor above him and then Harry’s loud laughter.

“Shit,” Niall mutters and then claps his hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbles for the benefit of the camera as he takes the stairs two at a time. He’s in shitty flip flops and he skids when he gets to the top, his stomach lurching up into his throat as he thinks he’s going to fall. It knocks a startled laugh out of his chest and he bangs his way down the hallway opposite to where he can hear Harry’s voice.

He hesitates outside Harry’s door because he’s not sure if Harry would want that beamed across the nation on the telly but when he pushes his hand to the door and peers in, there’s a very unconvincing lump in the middle of Harry’s bed. Niall can just about see the glow of a phone through the thin duvet.

He doesn’t really have any idea who he’s looking for, not having paid much attention during the dinner Harry hosted last night so he’s aware that he’s about to go and jump on a complete stranger.

But he does it anyway.

The lump yelps and Niall huffs out a laugh before he’s being rolled, the duvet tangling between him and the stranger. It’s disorientating for a moment and he panics slightly, his leg getting all caught under the weight of the person and his stomach clenching from the possibility of being trapped.

“What the fuck, Niall?” Nick asks, and when Niall opens his eyes he catches Nick’s expression through the folds of the duvet still tangled between them. He lets out a relieved laugh and relaxes into Harry’s pillows.

“Found you,” he says weakly, and Nick snorts, leaning back to push the duvet away so Niall can properly breathe.

“Thought no one would find me in here. Off limits, you know?” Nick asks. He’s still half straddling Niall’s waist and Niall tries very hard not to thrust up on instinct. Nick looks a little pink over the bridge of his nose too and his eyelashes are long and black, flicking up every time he blinks.

Niall lets out a breath instead of saying anything. He looks gorgeous. Niall gets a flash of him last night in the pool, his neck stretched taut.

“But,” Nick says slowly, his eyes dropping down to Niall’s mouth. “Didn’t think you were playing.”

Niall swallows. His head is a little bit swimmy from his afternoon cocktails. Nick smells good, like moisturiser and something oceany and he’s so close, his skin hot from being under the sun and the lights all afternoon.

“I’m always up for playtime,” Niall says. Mouth loose. Nick’s eyes darken and his face drops an inch closer. Niall suddenly catches himself on. What the fuck is he doing? He can’t--

“NIALL?” Harry’s voice calls out from the corridor. “NICK?”

Niall panics and he shoves at Nick’s shoulder, unseating him from astride Niall’s waist. Nick falls onto the other side of the bed with a soft thump just as Harry traipses into the room. “Wha--”

“Oh,” Harry says, his eyes dragging between the two of them. Niall feels as if his skin is on fire. He lies there, straight as a rod as Harry hangs on the side of the door. “There you are. Game’s over. Two of those moany girls from that crap girl band decided it was beneath them and are refusing to play so they’re scrapping it. Olly’s raging. He was up next.”

Nick snorts and sits up on his elbow, his hair's a mess, like someone’s run their fingers through it, and Niall swallows again, eyes jerking away in case Harry somehow thinks he’s the one that’s given him atrocious bedhead. If he’s going to get caught, he’d rather there be some truth in it. 

Niall swallows. _Caught._ He doesn’t know when he got so complacent about what he’s been thinking about for the past few weeks. 

“You can’t call them crap,” Nick scolds and throws his legs over the side of the bed. They’ll probably have to steam his shirt too with all the crinkles.

Harry grins. “I can call them crap if they are crap, that’s what an Expert Judge does.”

“Oh, give over,” Nick says, but he’s already laughing, reaching out to pull at where Harry’s shirt is starting to gape. “So bigheaded, aren’t you? You just stand and look pretty, there’s not expertise in that.”

Harry laughs brightly and pops back out into the corridor. Nick glances around Niall, raising his eyebrows when he sees Niall still lying spread out across the bed.

Niall offers him a weak smile and waits until he’s out the door after Harry to reach down and rearrange his shorts.

*

Nick chucks the crap girl band out later that evening and Niall watches, tucked back onto his sunlounger from across the garden as they cry hysterically in front of a bewildered Nick. This time, Harry’s sat next to him, nursing his own drink now that he’s officially done with any recording duties and laughing along with him.

“It feels slightly wrong to be enjoying this,” Harry murmurs. He’s lying across his lounger, shirt stripped off and glass settled on his chest. He sips on his straw, craning his neck up to get enough gravity to actually get the end into the drink. Niall can see the condensation dribble onto his bare chest – it’s making Harry’s nipples pucker up.

“It’s more Nick’s reaction,” Niall assures him. He definitely wouldn’t feel good about the two of them laughing at the contestants. He’s been there and knows exactly what they’re going through – Harry reminds him enough when he drags out the footages of Niall pulling his jumper up over his face.

“True,” Harry agrees as across the pool, Nick awkwardly pats one of the girl’s on the arm and she wails again, turning into his neck to cry against his shoulder. He looks petrified. “Shame they were so shit.” Harry slurps at his drink again. “The one in the kimono is fit.”

Niall glances over at him. He’s used to Harry saying stuff without thinking about it first but he didn’t exactly think that he’d been looking at people like that when Nick’s literally living in his house with him. He thinks, wildly, for a moment that maybe Nick and Harry aren’t all caught up in a whirlwind romance at all but it’s brief because he knows how Harry’s face will go soft and besotted at the sound of Nick’s name. Niall knows it’s only wishful thinking.

Niall closes his eyes and gets a flash of Nick’s face hovering over, so so close to him this afternoon. That close-enough-to-kiss-moment. He feels the threads of guilt knot in his stomach again and forces himself up off the lounger. “I should go,” Niall mumbles.

Harry looks across at him sharply. “Why? Nick’s not done.”

“Think I’ve drank too much,” Niall says, setting his glass down beside the jug that’s just watery melted ice now. “Or got sunstroke or something. Feel too wobbly.”

Harry frowns at him. “Stay here then,” he says seriously. Niall doesn’t really understand the disappointment in his voice. “You know there’s plenty of beds. Have a nap and join the party later. Olly and Caroline are staying too.”

Niall shakes his head. He can’t watch Nick and Harry disappear off to bed together again, even if it means missing a party. “I’ll call a car to get back to the hotel.”

Harry sits up, reaches for him. “Will you be ok? Do you want me to ring you every hour?”

Niall laughs, lifts his hand so Harry can intertwine their fingers briefly. “It’s not that serious. I’ll see you at the next show?”

Harry frowns. “Gimme a text tomorrow when you get up. Thanks for coming. Are you sure you want to go?”

Niall nods, squeezes his fingers and stands up. Most of the crew are packing up, the filming nearly over for the day. There’s a gaggle of contestants – the lucky ones that’ve got through – in the front porch getting ready for filming with Melvin and Rochelle but Niall skirts past them and makes it out to the packed driveway.

He takes a breath of sticky hot air, head going light for a moment and waits by the gate for a car.

 

*

“Are you ignoring me?” Nick says once Niall answers the phone.

Niall yawns. “No? I’m in America, Nick.”

“I know that,” Nick says irritably. His voice crackles. He hasn’t spoken to Nick since the weekend at Harry’s house. “Why didn’t you do the interview with me this morning?”

Niall sighs. He’d been asked, they all had been. Harry had fobbed it off with a shrug but he hadn’t really been a real option anyway.

“Liam’s better at it,” Niall says, voice a bit rough from waking up. “At least at the minute.”

Nick’s quiet for a moment. “What’s that meant to mean?”

Niall sighs. He doesn’t know what he means. “Nothin’. Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” Nick says. There’s noise around him and then it’s suddenly quiet, like he’s stepped into a vacuum of dead air. “Well. You can talk to me about nothing if you wanted to.”

Niall feels his stomach twist. He hasn’t really been talking to anyone at the moment. He supposes that’s half the problem.

“About anything,” Nick says, and Niall tries not to hear the implications lying in it. He means that weekend. Niall knows he wasn’t subtle. “Off the radio,” Nick tacks on, as if Niall’s contemplating having a bare all conversation on national radio. Niall laughs, getting louder when Nick starts to laugh back. It’s contagious.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “But I think I’m alright.”

Nick clears his throat. “Good.”

Neither of them say anything for a while but Niall doesn’t mind. He likes the even sound of Nick’s breathing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out soaking up the last of your sun?” Niall asks finally and he hears Nick snort softly over the line.

“Heading for the airport soon,” he says, and Niall _boos_ softly. He’s been using that as an excuse partly. Nick’s been on a working holiday. He’s been in Ibiza for fucks sake, he won’t have missed Niall’s inane emoji filled texts. 

“I know,” Nick says apologetically. “It got a bit mad over the weekend. Lost my voice last night and had to rest instead. There was no beach for me.”

Niall smiles. He’s seen the photos. There may not have been a beach but there was a very good looking man in a very good looking pool.

“You’ll have to make up for it then,” Niall finds himself saying. He doesn’t want to hang up the phone again -- even though he didn’t really want to talk to Nick in the first place.

“I will,” Nick says. “I’ll take you with me next time.” Niall hears him take a breath. “Get you sunsoaked and buzzing for a party.”

“Sounds like a,” Niall trails off. He can’t say _date_.

Nick laughs like he’s said it anyway. “It does.”

*

Niall wakes to the bright tone of his phone. It’s jammed under his head, not even under the pillow, the case digging into the side of his cheek.

It’s too loud and he groans, jerking away from it.

It takes a moment, Niall’s eyes adjusting to the bright backlight and how it takes him a few moments to get his thumb to work properly to key in the code.

**Have a bloody mary. The best cure is always to just get back on the horse**

Niall stares at the message for an entire minute, trying and failing to remember what he had last texted him. The entire night is a bit hazy. They’d gone out for dinner, the LA heat making it feel like summer ten-times over and then onto a bar. Niall had felt looser with every tumbler of whiskey that had been pressed into his hand. 

Someone shifts beside him and Niall freezes, stomach rolling. He can taste the lemon at the back of his throat and he stares at his phone, the screen dimming down without use, as if it’ll make his bed-mate go away.

“Morning,” comes a quiet, American accent. Fuck. “Or, still night I suppose.”

“Hey,” Niall says noncommittally, glancing over to see a mess of blonde hair and a pair of two big eyes on the other pillow. Niall gives her a wan smile before rolling off the side of the bed to spit a belly full of whiskey old fashioneds into the toilet.

He hears her giggle loudly from through the open bathroom door and he entirely wants the world to end right at this moment. He’s standing stark naked, shivering and stooped over the toilet heaving Jameson and gingers into the water. His phone is still clutched in his hand and he thinks of just phoning Basil, telling him he has a situation. He knows it’s early but he desperately doesn’t want to deal with this right now.

Instead, he bites the bullet and scrolls up his messages to Nick. They start off all right, a string of cocktail emojis and then a bright sun. There’s a gap, enough for the time stamp to come up before his next message.

**Do you know that your name autocorrects to Nick grins haw every time I write it?**

“Christ,” Niall mutters to himself, sinking back against the shiny marble cabinet under the sink. The floor is freezing against his bare arse cheeks but it’s a sharp contrast to the heat in the ones on his face. Half of his toiletry bag is scattered across the floor, and Niall reaches out half a foot beside him to finger the ripped edge of a condom wrapper.

 **Grins haw?** Nick’s replied. And then straight after.  
**Why are you writing my name out in full so much?**

Niall’s replied a monster of a message. It’s a jumble of letters and smiley faces that somehow gets across the vibe of how Niall’s broken his Google Alerts so has to Google his name manually and how Niall likes Nick’s laugh, that loud and rough _haw haw haw_ of a laugh. Niall’s sent that one twice, just to really push the point that Drunken Niall is an idiot. Niall stares at the little blue box. Letters dark and daunting **haw haw h aw** and hates himself.

Niall groans against his knee, drawing it up so he can set his mouth to it, testing the grip of his teeth. His gums are sore and it feels as if something is dying inside his throat and belly. He must’ve been smoking last night too.

“Brush your teeth if you’re coming back to bed!” the girl calls from his hotel room and Niall hiccups, turning his head to spit into the toilet bowl again. He wishes he could remember her name. If he closes his eyes he gets drips and drabs of last night. Dark, swimming memories that are more like feelings than actual images replaying in his head. He remembers how he’d smiled back when she had smiled prettily at him by the bar, how her fingernails were painted a bright pink and raked over his wrist when he passed her a drink. How they’d left the bar early, took it back to the hotel room. Niall swallows through another wave of nausea at the thought of how he’d felt a little sick when she told him out of the blue that she loved him.

_Christ._

Niall stumbles to his feet, his stomach still rolling. There’s a pair of damp boxers on the floor near the shower and Niall thanks the angels above him that he didn’t let housekeeping in yesterday as he pulls them on.

“It’s getting late,” Niall tells her, loud enough that she can hear him from the bathroom but not loud enough to strain his rough throat. 

He wonders if he can hide the entire time in the bathroom until she gets the hint to leave. He looks rough as fuck, his eyes bloodshot and the skin around them sallow and pale. He’s growing in a rough patch of day old stubble on his chin that makes him look haggard. Niall closes his eyes again against the bright of the light reflecting off the mirror and then snaps them open when he hears the tell-tale shutter sound of her phone.

She’s still sprawled out in the middle of the bed, her arm raised above her head with her phone when Niall comes round the corner from the bathroom.

“Fuck.” Niall snaps his head away from her, half spinning back to the bathroom. “Put some clothes on.”

There’s a little voice in the back of his mind, sounding awfully a lot like Zayn, that’s telling him he needs to be nice. Needs to remain calm. Needs to be _polite_. Because he doesn’t know where these photos could end up. Niall feels sick again.

“You certainly weren’t saying that last night.” She doesn’t sound angry, more flirtatious, and Niall suddenly gets a vivid flashback of the gleam in her eyes as she went down on him. That unsettling glint that says _I can’t wait to tell everyone about this_.

“I’ve got a meeting,” Niall says, inventing off the top of his head.

“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed. Niall reaches for a t-shirt, pulling it over his head and then a pair of jeans on the floor near the mini bar. He pauses, glances over the empty bottles strewn across the rug. No wonder his messages to Nick make no fucking sense.

“It’s only half five in the morning,” she’s telling him from the bed, but at least when Niall next glances up she’s got a bra on. Niall doesn’t appreciate that it’s going at the same speed as a reverse strip-tease. But at least it’s going somewhere. Niall bounces on his feet, getting the tight hems of his jeans over his ankles, nearly toppling over.

“It’s an early one,” Niall says, suddenly out of breath from jumping. His stomach feels like he’s just shaken the last of the whiskey all up and he’s ready to vomit again. He doesn’t want an audience for the next time though.

Niall presses his lips tightly together. She stares at him, her jaw dropping down. “You don’t fucking say.”

It sounds nasty coming out of her mouth, and Niall’s used to his fair share of girls swearing around him but it settles coolly across the room.

“Gym,” Niall finds himself saying. He’s grasping at straws now. “Need to do it early before people start using it. You know?”

It probably would’ve worked if Niall hadn’t just made a song and dance about pulling on his tightest jeans. The girl’s expression turns into a glare, her eyes slowly trailing up his legs.

“I liked you better when you could hardly string a sentence together.”

Niall winces. He’s fucked. There’ll be Masturbating-Violently-Levels of rumours in the tabloids by dinnertime but he doesn’t care – any patience he had is dwindling. It’s not normally like this – any other time he’d roll into a morning cuddle and offer breakfast and a shower. And that’s something that’s jarring him. The fact that every bone in his body is inexplicably irritated since the moment he’s woken up isn’t helping.

He puts it down to how all those other times he didn’t have Nick on the end of the phone, even if it’s a slim-to-never chance of going anywhere. He’s the one he’s been thinking of at random points of the day. He’s the one he’s been comparing everyone to.

Niall swallows through another burst of saliva in his mouth. The girl is finally getting out of bed to find her shoes. Niall can see her in the reflection of the black TV. He runs his thumb over the sharp corner of his phone case. Fuck Basil’s job description, he’ll pay him overtime if she keeps dawdling.

“I’ll walk you out.” Niall’s tone is flat but not rude, and he turns so he doesn’t have to look at her scowl as she finishes getting dressed. He can’t remember specifics, but he wonders what they talked about last night as they broke into the bar and in between the sheets. There’s a bad taste in his mouth and he knows it’s not just the alcohol.

Niall pulls on a plaid shirt and then a jumper, just to be sure. He’s still feeling oddly naked even in three layers. In an hour he’ll be sweltering.

“Thanks,” she mutters, snatching her handbag up over her shoulder. There’s mascara smeared across the bottom of her left eye and Niall finds himself wondering, if he wasn’t hanging together by a thread that is, if he’d find it endearing.

Niall shoves his key in his back pocket and leads her out into the corridor. They’ve rented the entire floor like usual and there’s a few boxes and bags tucked into corners beside doorways, the one closest to the lift is a crate of moet, the flap of the cardboard box open.

“See you again, then,” Niall says, his standard goodbye as he jabs the button for the lift. There’s grit behind his eyes and he feels too awake for how tired he is. He’s still half drunk. She smiles thinly, reaches into the box and pulls out a bottle. Niall jabs the button again. It’s taking for fucking ever.

The doors ding open and Niall feels his stomach sink. Louis’ standing against the wall, one hand keeping himself steady as he scrolls through his phone. He glances up, mouth turning into a smirk as he takes the two of them in. 

“Oh dear,” Louis says but Niall can hear the undisguised glee in it. “What do we have here then.”

“Bye,” Niall says hastily to her, doing his best to ignore the way Louis lopes out of the lift with his smarmy grin.

“Bye,” she scowls as she steps into the lift. Niall nods, barely meets her eyes before he’s turning back towards his room.

“Oh dear,” Louis says, but this time it’s softer.

Niall’s shoulders slump. “I’m fucked.”

“You and me both,” Louis tells him seriously, voice slurring. He grabs Niall’s wrist and smiles, pulling him towards his room. “We’ll get some chicken dippers and talk it over, hmm?”

Niall grimaces. Neither of them sound particularly appealing. Louis hums, leaning down and taking a bottle out of the Moet box with a grin.

Well, Nick did tell him to get back on the horse.

*

Niall drinks a third of a bottle of champagne and then falls asleep in the middle of Louis’ bed, wrapped up in his duvet and feeling sorry for himself. It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell it all to Louis but he doesn’t seem to be really listening, scrolling through his phone and drinking from the bottle as he sets up the X Box on his TV.

Niall wakes up in the late afternoon feeling worse than ever. There’s a feverish sweat gathering at all the sweet spots – below his hairline, under his arms and at the dip of his back. He kicks his foot out and realizes it’s because he’s melting in about four layers.

“Phone ringing,” Louis mumbles from where he’s buried in blankets beside him. His cheeks are pink too.

“Air conditioning,” Niall responds back, just as monosyllabic. He rolls over, untangles himself from the hem of his jumper where it’s twisted and finds his phone half digging into his hip where it’s wedged in his front pocket.

“Lo,” Niall answers, fighting to get his jeans off. He wriggles about, Louis complaining beside him, until he gets a waft of stale but cool air on his thighs.

“Ah,” Nick’s voice is soft. “He lives.”

Niall pauses, sinks back into the burrow of sheets he’s made. It smells dank of himself, ginger ale and stale wine. Everything this morning feels like days ago.

“M’alive,” Niall concurs and lets his eyes close. He needs a shower but everything feels like so much effort at the minute.

“Weren’t making much sense there,” Nick challenges him but his tone is still soft. Niall hums. He doesn’t really want to talk about it. Everything last night is overshadowed by a big overhanging cloud of **Fucked Up!**

“What day is it over there?” Niall asks, and he means to ask what time not the day but he assumes that Nick can work it out.

Nick laughs softly to himself. “Four minutes until Monday.”

“Nice,” Niall says, bringing his arm up to cover his eyes. He opens them in there, feels the drag of his eyelashes and sees nothing. That’s what he needs today.

“Can’t sleep,” Nick admits softly, and Niall pulls his arm away to stare at the ceiling. He sounds nervous. Like he’s letting Niall in on a secret. Niall’s not sure why Nick isn’t phoning someone else up, like Aimee or Pixie. Or Harry.

Niall swallows and pushes himself out of the bed. Louis grunts his assent but Niall ignores him, ducking out of his room and back into his own.

Housekeeping have been this time and Niall’s thankful – the sheets are clean, the bottles are all gone and so are the condoms.

He pushes out of the sliding door and onto the balcony. It’s small, just enough for Niall to sit down at the two seat cast iron table. It rocks a little when he settles, but at least it’s cooler out here, this side of the hotel in the shade. He can hear someone shriek down at the pool, but it’s all very far away down below.

“I could sleep for days,” Niall admits. Nick’s being quiet on the other side of the phone, and Niall’s burning to ask why he’s picked him.

“Wanna swap?” Nick asks, his voice betraying him with the way it cracks.

“Most definitely.” His sleep hasn’t made Niall feel any better about last night. He runs his hand through his hair and feels the product in it, the tackiness of the hairspray and the way it’s gone hard rather than fluffy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nick asks and Niall bites his lip.

_Yes._

“Nah,” he mumbles. He can’t talk to Nick about this. Not when he’s part of the reason he’s all confused. Nick’s a crush, Niall tells himself. It shouldn’t matter if he’s gone and slept with someone else.

“Okay,” Nick mumbles. He sounds so much more younger like this, his voice hushed and quiet. Niall imagines him tucked up under his duvet in London. It’d be cosy. He’s not seen the inside of his bedroom save for the few glimpses he gets on Snapchat or Skype. His bed would be soft, nice to spread out on across the mattress. Niall’s back needs a good worn in mattress. 

“Hey,” Niall says softly after a few minutes of watching the clouds in the pale blue sky. He’s not sure if Nick’s asleep yet. “Why’d you phone me?” He says it before he can back out, some of the champagne and whiskey clearly making him brave.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Nick answers after a moment’s hesitation. Niall finds it so hard to gauge what anyone means sometimes over the phone. He wants to have Nick in front of him so he can see the way his eyes flit about, how his forehead dips. He just wants him _here._

“No,” Niall says. His head is starting to thump, a solid thudthudthud behind his eyes. “Why _me_?”

Niall hopes he can hear the unasked question in it -- why not Harry?

“Was worried,” Nick says simply. “And haven’t spoken to you in ages. Wanted to hear your voice.”

Niall smiles down at his hand. He rubs the side of his thumb against the side of the table and it rocks on its uneven feet.

“Ok,” Niall says, mainly to show that he’s still on the line. He tries to swallow down his smile so Nick doesn’t hear it over the line. “You tired yet?”

“Nearly,” Nick answers quietly. He sounds a little bit far away and Niall wonders if he’s on loudspeaker. “Stay till I do?”

Niall’s stomach gives another little flip. Nick sounds a little sad and Niall wonders if it’s just the Sunday Night Blues or if there’s something else going on. If there’s a reason why he hasn’t been phoning someone like Harry. “I’ve got all night,” Niall says instead.

Nick hums. “Tell me a story.”

Niall takes his time, licking his lips because his mouth has suddenly gotten very dry. “There was once a young Poppet called Nicholas.”

Nick starts to laugh and Niall grins, headache lifting.

*

Harry glares at him the moment Niall steps into the room. He pats at his phone, checking the time in case he’s late.

“What?” he asks and sits down at the table in the corner of the room. “It’s not ten yet. I’m not even the last one here.”

He waves around the room. Liam’s still in the shower and Louis hasn’t dragged himself from his bed yet.

“I don’t care about the time,” Harry snaps and goes back to frowning at his phone. Niall knows that Harry can huff all day if he wants to. Niall doesn’t want that – he’s on his flight today, he knows that much.

“Just spit it out, now while you have the chance.” The sound of Liam’s shower cuts off as if to punctuate Niall’s urgency.

“What was the other night about?” Harry asks accusingly.

Niall’s heart starts to thump and he reaches for his phone again. “Shit, is there pictures?”

Harry glares at him. “What the fuck _were_ you doing?”

Niall’s gone uncomfortably hot. He had spent the majority of the morning basking in the fact that he got a good eight hours sleep last night and the best shower of the whole summer. “What are _you_ talking about?”

Harry turns to look at him, reaching forward so he looks a little bit intimidating even though Niall’s actually looking down on him. Niall grapples for a breath – this is why he doesn’t do confrontation.

“I’m talking about finally announcing your feelings for Nick Grimshaw and then fucking off to have sex with some other girl.”

Niall entire stomach drops out as he gapes at Harry.

“Fuck,” he says faintly. No wonder Harry’s pissed off at him. Liam's clattering about his bathroom and Niall can't have this conversation here. He grips at Harry's wrist and drags him out into the corridor back to his own room. “I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean. It’s –“ Niall doesn’t know how to explain it. “It was just a little crush. I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking to him.”

Harry’s staring at him, his face screwing up. “What?”

“Look. I’ve stepped over a line. I know and I—“ Niall takes a breath. “I don’t know what I said the other night but I totally respect that you’re --” Niall waves his hand about and Harry’s expression turns more perplexed. “You know the way that you and Nick are –“ he trails off.

Harry’s eyes are widening. “Oh, Niall.”

“I’m sorry,” Niall apologises again but Harry’s mouth is turning up into a sweet smile and Niall suddenly doesn’t have a clue what is going on.

Harry shakes his head and reaches forward to link his fingers with Niall’s sweaty hand. “I’m not with Nick.”

He wasn’t expecting _that_.

“What?”

Harry’s smile drops off his face. “I’m not. We decided long ago to just be friends.”

“But,” Niall mutters, more to himself than to Harry. Harry squeezes his hand, shoves a banana between his knees and starts to carefully peel it with one hand while he waits for Niall to catch up.

“Why didn’t you tell me this _before_?” Niall hisses at him, batting his banana out of his hand. Harry looks offended for a moment.

“I thought that you knew.” Harry pouts, glancing forlornly down at the banana. “I _told_ you the other night. I’ve spent all summer trying to set you up with him.”

Niall can feel his face screw up as he stares at him. Harry looks completely relaxed now, and Niall’s gotten used to the rapid changes in conversation, but sometimes he wonders if Harry’s even actually as angry or as happy as he lets on.

“How on earth have you done that?” Niall asks him. Harry’s still staring at the floor after his banana. Niall isn’t sure why. There’s a whole fruit bowl on the breakfast bar back in Liam's room.

“I brought you out for that dinner,” Harry says, finally looking up at him. He shrugs his shoulders as if Niall should’ve caught onto Harry’s little plan weeks ago. Niall wants to wring his neck. “I told Nick that you were really interested in how he’s been getting on with X Factor. Gave him your number. To be honest, I was wondering what was taking so long. I brought you out to LA!”

“And I spent the entire time pining after him because I thought he was sleeping with _you_.” He doesn’t mean to snap but that long, sun soaked weekend in LA had been the best and worst of his year so far. “It didn’t occur to you to maybe let us know that?”

Harry bites his lip. “You were a lot more accepting of this at the bar.”

“I don’t remember you being _at_ the bar,” Niall snaps.

Harry raises his eyebrow. “That probably partly explains the girl then?”

Niall reaches forward, grabs him around the shoulders and shoves his knuckles into Harry’s scalp.

“Ow,” Harry complains, twisting away from him. Niall doesn’t feel any sympathy. Harry gives him a reproachful look, one hand sliding into his hair where Niall noogied him.

“You’re an idiot,” Niall groans and starts pulling his bed apart to look for his phone. “Now fuck away off so I can phone him.”

“Is this the beginning of a beautiful love story?” Harry asks, taking a step back so Niall can’t reach for him again. He manages to step over the banana but Niall thinks that that’s some divine intervention. “Can I be usher at the wedding? Best man?”

“Out!”

Harry snorts, disappearing out of the hotel room looking smug. Niall needs to take a few moments to calm himself. And then a few more moments to work himself up to phoning Nick. He can’t _believe_ Harry.

It’s story of making his fingers tingle, a cool numbness settling down across his limbs. He sits on the end of his bed and takes a few deep breathes, chest growing tight.

This is it.

He answers on the third ring. “Hello.”

He sounds bright but there’s something forced in it. Niall wonders when he started to notice these things – how it comes second nature now.

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks instead of greeting him. He’s too hyped up to think about this clearly.

“Nothing,” Nick says a little bit defensively. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Niall echoes and then takes a deep breath. This’ll get them nowhere. “Just wanted a chat.”

“You never phone for just a chat,” Nick tells him but he’s laughing now. There’s a rustle of something and then Nick’s voice back clear on the line. “I just received a very interesting snapchat from Harry.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Niall mutters mutinously under his breath.

Nick snorts softly. “I guess you’ve finally caught on.”

Niall slumps onto the duvet. It’s slippery and Niall rubs his fingers over the edge of it repeatedly. “I feel like an idiot,” Niall admits. “How long have you known?”

“For a while,” Nick tells him. “I think I’ve been wanting it for longer though.”

Niall lets out a breath, relieved. It feels nice to be wanted in such a personal way. It’s not the same as thousands of girls wanting him from across a stadium. “We could’ve had all that time in LA.”

Nick’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says and Niall can nearly imagine him shrugging. “But we could –“

“We could?” Niall asks him.

“We could,” Nick confirms, and Niall finds himself laughing, all his tense stress draining out of his shoulders. They could have that time now. 

“I want to see your face,” Niall tells him. He closes his eyes. It’s been so long since he’s seen his actual face – not primed and prepped for a photoshoot, not that one shot that’s on the iPlayer website, stoic and frozen for three and half hours while Niall listens.

Nick laughs quietly. “Two ticks,” he mumbles, his voice fading away and then it’s coming through loudspeaker as he Facetimes him.

“Hello,” Niall says softly once Nick’s face appears on screen. He’s lying on grass somewhere, evening sun casting over his face. He looks good – glowy and smooth. Niall wishes he were there. “You alone?”

“Say hello, Pig,” Nick says, looking off screen and then Pig’s there, scurrying into Nick’s side and flopping around. Niall smiles as Nick laughs, watches as he swats at her to get off his stomach. “Just me and the dog.”

“You look good,” Niall says and then closes his eyes, cringing at himself. Niall feels flushed but he can’t stop saying what he feels. He’s spent the last few months checking himself constantly with what he’s saying. Nick laughs softly. Niall had forgotten he was on Facetime.

“Well you’d see me better with your eyes open,” Nick says, and he’s smiling at him when Niall cracks an eye open. “You look nice too. That bed looks soft.”

Niall grins, spreads himself out in it. His arm hurts from being above his face like this but the pillow is soft under his head. “It is comfy.”

Nick laughs, his face becoming bigger on the screen, filling it up as he drops his own phone closer to his face.

Niall wishes he was there with him. He looks soft around the edges like this, tired from being up early that morning and chilled out on his back garden. 

“I want to kiss you,” Niall blurts out because he doesn’t have to stop himself this time. He’s glad this is over Facetime because he can see the way Nick blushes and looks shyly away. It’s not something he usually associates with Nick -- shyness, but he looks nice the way he pinks up. 

“I want to kiss you too. All that time in LA, I wanted to just press you up against one of Harry’s walls and kiss you senseless. You looked cute in your flip-flops and sunburn.”

Niall laughs. “That sunburn was atrocious.”

“It was cute,” Nick says, and he sounds so sure in himself that it’s jarring for a moment. “Would’ve tried to kiss it better.”

“Would’ve hurt if you’d kissed it,” Niall tells him honestly. He’d had to peel off the skin a few days later and Niall never wants to be sunburnt every again. 

“Well,” Nick says, smile turning a little dirty. “I never said I’d be kissing your nose. But you would feel better.”

Niall pauses -- it’s a line if he’s ever heard one. It’s so obvious and Nick’s staring at him through the screen so intently that Niall nearly feel like he’s there. 

He feels a throb in his gut, a warmth that he hasn’t felt with an actual person in longer than he can remember. 

“Really?” Niall asks. It’s not sexy at all and Nick laughs brightly, the scene changing over his shoulder as he walks back into his house. 

Niall feels his heart start to thump. This _can’t_ be happening.

Nick settles on his sofa, spreading out along it and Niall can feel his face heat up. It’s the middle of the morning where he is -- they’re supposed to be having a meeting soon, but he can feel himself drift into it, his hand settling along his hip, rubbing at the skin above his waistband. 

It’s as if Nick _knows_. He laughs again but this time it’s all husky, half muffled over the line and Niall wishes he was there to hear it in person. He’d press his face against his chest and _feel_ it. 

“Are we doing this?” Niall asks, still not quite believing it. Nick laughs again. 

“Yeah,” he says, and then the camera moves again and Niall can see the length of his body, Nick’s hand resting on his belly right where Niall’s own hand is too. 

“Fuck,” Niall swears, unclasping his button and shoving his hand into his boxers. He’s already filling up, ridiculously turned on at the thought of finally actually doing it. It had always been something floating in the back of the mind, but he’d never actually thought it’d _happen._

Nick’s dick looks nice, flushed up pink with every pull of his fist and Niall wonders what he’d taste like. He can feel his mouth water and he wishes he had something for his mouth. Both his hands are occupied though, one squeezing around his balls and the other holding his phone. He doesn’t know what Nick would prefer, to see his face or to see his dick. 

Nick isn’t really in a position to answer; he’s moaning softly, his hand busy playing with his foreskin, dragging it down over his dick with every laboured breath. 

It’s slightly voyeuristic. Like Nick’s watching him jack off to some inane porn he’s found on the internet through his webcam. It’s hot, sending raw pulses of want through his veins until it’s suddenly not, his feet growing a little cold at the thought. Like he’s been caught out or someone’s going to burst through the door again like when he was fourteen and still figuring out what he liked.

“Fuck,” Nick groans on the other side of the video link, and Niall watches, his hand going still at the tip of his cock as Nick’s speeds up, blurring with the delay in the connection. Nick’s panting comes through strongly, a deep rough pull of breath as he gets closer and closer.

“Come on,” Niall says encouragingly, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. He rubs his thumb against the tip of his dick, right where he’s most sensitive. He screws his eyes shut, concentrating on the warmth building and filling him out toes up.

He misses Nick coming completely, only catching how his groan lengthens and sounds that much different from all the rest of his moaning and groaning. When he opens his eyes again, Nick’s sprawled out again, his hand settled near his hip and the other off screen. It’s an odd angle, everything swelling out as if he’s looking at it through one of Harry’s fish-eye lenses.

Nick cups at his balls, his stomach still rising heavy and Niall copies him, reaching down to squeeze around his balls and thumb down his perineum. He imagines it’s Nick’s hands, his palm big and flat and warm and comes with a grunt over the keyboard of his Mac.

It’s not the best he’s ever had but it sort of hollows him out, makes him feel tingly and washed up as he rights his breathing. There’s something niggling at him though as he wipes his hand on his thigh, watching his hair brush the wrong way up his skin.

“You okay?” Nick’s asking him, his voice light and playful. Niall nods, the tingling in his bones giving away to something more empty. He’s not sure if he liked that at all. He tries not to think about it, focusing on Nick instead.

He likes Nick. _Likes_ him in a way he hasn’t liked anyone in ages. He wants to do that in person, wants to strip him of his clothes and run his hands all over his skin. He wants to touch and hold and _feel_. He wants someone to kiss him and tell him they love him and actually mean it.

“Niall?” Nick’s asking, voice rough. He’s sitting up straighter now though, as if he knows that Niall’s about to have a meltdown.

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” Niall mutters, stomach dropping, but it makes Nick grin.

“A true twenty-first couple,” he says, but that just makes Niall feel worse. Nick stares at him, the way his eyebrows dip getting lost in the sudden pixilation of the screen and it feels too easy for Niall to click his phone off. 

*

There’s three missed calls on his phone by the next day and Niall feels horrible, shoving his phone down the side of his suitcase so he can’t keep checking it. 

“Oh sweetie,” Lou coos at him when Niall spills his guts to her backstage. She ruffles his hair and Niall feels like a child. “I wish you had just asked.”

Niall looks at her in the mirror unimpressed. “That’s what he said.”

“That’s what he said,” Lux parrots from his lap. She’s been doing an annoying copying thing lately. Niall’s had to tone down his swearing significantly. Niall gives her a gentle pinch. She flinches away but grins up at him smugly, her tiny hand reaching out to give as good as she got. Lou snorts and pulls a comb roughly through his hair. It feels like he’s being pulled in both directions.

Niall’s not sure whom he hates most.

He closes his eyes and aims for a little shut-eye, but it’s fruitless with the way Lou yanks at his hair and how Lux squirms every few moments on his knee. She’s playing with something on the counter in front of them, leaning as far as she can to press her face against the mirror.

“What do you think about a cigar?” Lux asks brightly, her heels kicking off Niall’s shins. Niall blinks his eyes open and realises that he’s missed the first version of that sentence coming out of Harry’s mouth. Harry beams at him from where he’s appeared at his elbow.

“I think you’re too young for them,” he answers them both. He wants to scratch his nose where the trimmings from Lou’s scissors are making him itch, but he can’t because Lux has commandeered his thumbs to play with.

Harry rolls his eyes and sinks into the chair beside Niall. “No,” he says, and flashes his phone at him so Niall can see a brief photo of a pair of boots. “Cigar suede. Cool, right?”

“Yeah,” Niall replies, grunting as Lou tangles her fingers through the front of his hair and tugs. He finds it mildly irritating that Harry’s just dropped a bombshell on Niall and doesn’t seem to be too bothered by it. He’s gone internet shopping again.

“They’re nice,” Lou comments. “I’m a size five. Christmas isn’t too far away.”

“Santa!” Lux crows, kicking her legs again against Niall’s shins. He winces but she doesn’t seem to worry too much, yanking at Niall’s hands excitedly.

Harry snorts, “Half a year away, babe.” Lou just grins at him in the mirror, her hands knotting in Niall’s hair again. Niall watches as his face settles in a scowl.

“What’s got on your tits then?” Harry asks, his hand slapping down on the wrist that isn’t half holding Lux in place.

“What’s got on your tits then?” Lux repeats and Harry glances up at Lou before bending his head so he’s properly at her level.

“Now, now, Luxie.” Harry chastises lightly. “It’s not nice to repeat. Try to think of your own sentences.” Niall doesn’t think anyone would ever take it as a serious scolding. Lux clearly doesn’t with the way she beams at him, scrambling off Niall’s lap to launch herself into Harry’s. Niall lets her go, grateful to have his knees back intact. 

“What do you think has?” Niall asks when Harry turns his attention back to him. Harry shrugs, pulling a face at Lux, but when he looks up he’s got a stern look on his face. “He’s told you,” Niall states, stomach twisting. 

“Of course he did,” Harry says, voice still cheerful in case Lux is listening. Lou’s hands go still, her eyes darting between them in the mirror. 

“Look,” Niall starts to explain. He can feel his defenses rising, but Harry quells it with a look. 

“You don’t announce you like someone, have a very,” Harry glances down at Lux. “ _Jolly_ time on Skype and then hang up on someone. Post Jolly. In the same Skype call.”

“Oh, Niall,” Lou sighs, leaving his hair and walking around to get at eye level with Lux. “Let’s leave Niall and Harry to talk about grown up things.”

Lux pouts, kicks Niall in the shin again before she hops down. He deserves it. 

Niall goes back to picking at the hole in his jeans.

“What the fuck?” Harry demands once Lux has skipped off. “I thought you liked him? Nick really likes you. He’s my best mate, what the fuck are doing hanging up on him after --”

“I know,” Niall groans. “It was just -- very new. I haven’t done that before. There’s never been anyone I’ve liked that much and I --”

“I think you should just phone him,” Harry suggests. “You like him, he likes you. Go get your Cinderella moment.”

“I think,” Niall says very quietly. “That I was getting used to thinking of him as unattainable. It was a silly little crush that I never thought would happen.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just keeps his face blank like he always does when he thinks he’s being serious or helpful. It’s a little jarring because normally he’s so open with his emotions.

“But it is happening,” Harry replies. “Surely that’s making you happy?”

Niall shrugs. He’s not sure he’s had enough time to think about it properly. Plus it’s just him. He doesn’t have the time or space to work this out with Nick by his side.

He says as much to Harry who, to his credit, keeps his face just as neutral as he tells him to fuck off.

“Get your head out of your arse and talk to him,” Harry says, and there’s something sharp under it that Niall wasn’t expecting. For as much time as he spent worrying all about Harry and Nick being together, it’s sometimes easy to forget that they’re friends. Harry’s looking out for him too.

*

There hasn’t been a crowd gathered like this outside the hotel in a while. Niall knows, he half subconsciously keeps tabs on them in the back of his head as they travel city to city. They normally split up now, him and Harry going off to a hotel a few long streets away from Liam and Louis. All four of them are here tonight though, smuggled through the back doors last night after the show. He’s no idea how it’s gotten out.

He slides onto the arm of a fancy chair in the hotel foyer and tries to remain calm. His palms feel sweaty and his stomach is turning molten, that too-hot, sickly feeling like everything he’s eaten in the past week is going to trickle out of his arsehole in a moment.

Niall eyes the new girl from the American label, her eyes wide as she stares point blank out the front glass doors with a thinly veiled look of terror. It was her then, Niall thinks sourly.

“You good?” Harry asks him, sinking down onto the coffee table in front of him. He has on one of Lux’s backpacks, bright pink and shiny plastic caught around his broad shoulders.

“Yeah,” Niall finds himself snapping back. Harry’s eyes widen slightly, but Niall can’t follow them and he snaps his gaze back down onto the phone clasped in his hand, the breadth of the iPhone 6 suddenly feeling much too wide for his palm.

Niall’s dialling the number without really thinking about it. They haven't spoken in two days and it's longer than it’s been in a while. Niall worries his lip, trying not to think about why he's been putting it off.

But he can do it now. This is something he can control.

The dial tone is loud in his ear, cutting through the thud of his heartbeat. Harry's watching him curiously, not caring that this could be- is - a private phone call.

"Hiya," Nick says brightly on the other end when he picks up.

Niall lets out a shaky breath. "Hello."

Harry's forehead tightens and Niall's on his feet, stumbling slightly to get out of his ear shot.

"Are you alright?" Nick's asking, his voice masked by the thump of his pulse for a moment as his body realigns itself for standing up.

It takes Niall a moment to answer. He's caught by the size of the crowd again just on the other side of the glass. "No," he finds himself answering. Honest for once. He's so used to everyone already knowing him when he gets like this that he hardly ever has to talk about it anymore. Everyone already knows how to react – Louis will try to take his mind of it, Liam will remain reassuring, Harry’ll troop after him to make sure he keeps on walking. But Nick’s the whole other side of the world away and it’s never felt so far away before.

"What's wrong?" Nick asks and there's the sound of movement -- chatter as he moves away from his friends, the slide of a patio door and sudden silence. Nick’s breathing loudly on the phone but Niall’s breath is louder.

"Where are you?" Niall asks, heart thudding. He's vaguely aware of how this is Something. He. Does. Not. Do. He’s stalling for time.

"Majorca," Nick answers quickly and in the same breath, "What's wrong. What's happened?"

Niall feels guilt twist in his gut and he reaches out with his free hand to steady himself. His fingers grip at thick decorative curtains that are strung up at the edge of the huge glass pane. It makes them twitch and there’s a fresh wave of screaming from outside. Fuck. Nick’s on holiday and Niall’s just this ridiculous _kid_ annoying him all the time. "Sorry," Niall manages, his tongue thick in his mouth. "Sorry to have --"

"What's happened?" Nick cuts him off, his tone terse and serious and Niall's hardly heard him like that.

Niall’s throat locks up. He’s not sure what’s wrong. There isn’t anything really. It’s just a horde of girls and paparazzi. It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before.

He feels burning at the back of his throat, sharp and hot in a way that wants to give way to tears.

“I wish you were here,” Niall blurts out on a choked breath. He sucks his lips into his mouth because he hadn’t really meant to say that. “There’s this crowd and I’ve been thinking about the other night and I—I—“

“Hey,” Nick says, his voice switching to soothing like he’s hit a button. Niall twists his fingers in the curtains again. “Everything’s gonna be ok. It’ll all be fine.”

Niall swallows the excess spit in his mouth, but it floods in below his tongue again as soon as he does.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” Niall tells him suddenly. Nick’s quiet for a moment on the other end of the line and Niall grips at his phone, fingers growing sore from how tense he’s listening.

“That’s fine,” Nick says evenly and Niall _knows_ it’s not. Not by his own standards at all.

“I just don’t do this very much and –“ Niall says, trailing off because he doesn’t quite know where he’s going. “I just wasn’t really expecting it to—“

“I get it,” Nick cuts him off. “Honestly.”

Niall’s breathing eases a bit because he believes him. Nick was once in Niall’s position, coming to terms with jumping in at the deep end.

“I want to make this work,” Niall tells him honestly. It sort of dawns on him as he’s speaking. “This isn’t just some silly little --” Niall takes a breath. “Crush.”

He hears Nick’s quiet laugh. “I’m contemplating taking you on full time. A full time crush.”

Niall grins, hiding his face in the curtains. He’s starting to feel calmer already. 

“When are you done?” Nick asks, his voice light and even and Niall focuses on it. 

“Tomorrow,” Niall mumbles. 

“Come to Majorca,” Nick suggests. “We’ll do this properly. We’ll start it again properly. In person.”

Niall smiles again. “In person.” 

“I’ve got to go,” Niall says shakily. Harry’s standing waiting on him, Basil hovering behind him and half the team are already out the door. “I’m the last one.”

“Off you go,” Nick says reassuringly. “I’ll be here.”

Niall takes a shaky breath, dropping his hand to stare at Nick’s name on Niall’s screen, the screen smeared with the sweat along Niall’s hairline. His thumb hovers over the bit red circle but he finds that he can’t hang up on him yet.

“Ready?” Basil’s asking. He’s well versed in Niall and crowds and they fall into formation easily, Niall following him eyes locked on the back of Basil’s shoulder. There’s a little hole growing in his t-shirt where he’s ripped the tag, and Niall focuses on it as they walk out into the melee of screaming.

Niall’s nearly blinded by the flash of lights, but he pushes his way forward. Harry's behind him, hand solid at his back, and Niall realises a little belatedly it's the first person to touch him in days. He grips his phone tighter, his hand in a wide fist down by his side.

He wonders if they can see it on his face. The seriousness of what he's been talking about on the phone behind a curtain for the past four minutes. It feels like Niall’s world is still shifting, still sliding away from his control and then it's snapping violently into place. Maybe it hasn’t been the crowd he’s afraid of at all.

"You're ok," Harry dutifully reminds him. Niall nods, breathes out of his nose and pretends that that's what he wants to hear. He may need it. But he wants something- someone else entirely.

Niall’s half pushed into the car and he goes easily, tumbling into the opposite seat so he can slump down and stare out of the opposite window. He can hear the squeals of girls beyond the car as they start to run and he _hates_ this bit. This chasing like they’re ever going to catch up. It makes him feel like he’s running away from them.

He takes a breath, closing his eyes on the palm prints appearing pressed against the tinted windows. Harry’s sliding in beside him, his head brushing up against the ceiling of the car as he takes the middle seat. He presses his knee against him, a steady pressure, and Niall feels himself slump against his side, putting as much space between him and the door as possible.

“You still there?” Niall asks into the phone. It’s warm against his cheek.

“Always,” Nick answers.

*

Niall takes a flight that gets him in late. He stands for twenty minutes at the luggage carousel, half asleep as he waits for his guitar and his case.

“You heading home?” Basil asks him. He looks just as tired, and Niall feels a throb of guilt. He hates keeping him up. 

“Yeah,” Niall says and checks his phone. He can’t look Basil in the eye when he’s lying to him. “You go on ahead.

Basil hesitates, but Niall gives him an encouraging smile until he finally gives in and leaves for home. The airport is quiet in an abstract way – there’s still people bustling about, yawning as they grab suitcases off the track, a crowd of jetlagged kids lining up behind a teacher.

Niall skates past them, keeps his head down as he heads towards departures again. Basil would kill him if he knew he was hopping on another plane without telling him. His passport is burning a hole in his pocket and he stands just outside the British Airways Lounge deciding what to do. 

He can still cancel – just nip back out through security and head on home while half of London still sleeps. He pulls his last messages to Nick up; it seems like so long ago he texted him even if it was just before he got on the plane in New York. 

He jumps into a cab as someone gets out, keeps his head down as they drive him the whole way home. He regrets it as soon as he gets in, the cabbie asking him ‘where for’ through the fingerprint smeared partition and Niall’s stomach sinking as he says _home_. 

The house is in darkness when he gets in, Willie having been at the security light again. Niall flicks on the lamp in the hallway, punches in the code to the alarm and heads to get a glass of water. He catches the framed photo of Nick against the wall behind the toaster from the corner of his eye.

“Shit,” he swears, staring at it. He had forgotten he still had it because he’d been gone for so long. Nick looks good, his eyes piercing but kind. 

Niall’s picking up his keys before he’s even really thought it through. 

He feels jittery and clammy as he heads back out towards the airport. The traffic has picked up in the hour since he’d last been there and Niall listens to some sort of underground trap remix as he idles at a red light. It isn’t very calming for his nerves, but he doesn’t find much else at three am on a Friday morning.

He parks in the Short Stay, swiping his credit card without really giving much thought to the extortionate bill he’ll get in a few days. It’s only when he’s going through security _again_ that he realises he doesn’t have much luggage on him -- just the clothes he’s wearing, two pairs of sunglasses and a pair of trainers in his backpack. 

His nerves are even worse once he’s safely inside the BA Lounge. He fidgets with his phone, contemplates leaving again and drinks two glasses of complimentary champagne on the trot. It’s a struggle not to burp in the face of the very lovely lady from Elemis who offers him a free facial.

He decides to text Harry while she kneads the knots out of his shoulders. It’s barely even morning yet; the lounge is slowly filling up with businessmen in suits. He feels out of place in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, sticky from a transatlantic flight and two trips across London. He hasn’t thought this through.

 **have fun** is all he receives back in response thirty five minutes later as he’s already been called for boarding. Niall sighs. He doesn’t know what he expected.

He watches as the businessmen file on first, some of them friendly with the flight crew, others too busy entertaining their mistresses as they board. Dawn is slowly creeping up on the sky outside the large window, sending everything a pale grey.

He pulls up Nick’s messages again and stares at his last one. He thinks of his photo on Niall’s breakfast bar and the soothing tone of his voice as Niall hid behind a curtain. 

**see you soon** Niall sends before he can bottle it again.

 

Nick’s standing beside a sleek white rental car at the curb of the arrivals gate. Niall’s note sure if he’s supposed to be parked there, or if it’s even his rental, but he’s got his arse firmly planted on the bonnet anyway. He looks good, his shirt billowing around his chest where he’s missed a few buttons, a pair of denim shorts fraying above his knee. He looks relaxed, his face smoothed out and the length of his body casually propped up against his car. Niall’s glad he went for that last minute facial now.

The airport is starting to get busy as it creeps into morning, the businessmen disappearing off into a fleet of blacked out silver taxis around the side and the rest of the holiday makers loading onto Thomas Cook coaches to take them down to Santa Ponsa and Magaluf as troops of zonked out teens make their way towards departures. Niall keeps his head down, manages to miss most of them as he sneaks out the side door.

“Took you long enough,” Nick complains when he finally spots him, sunglasses tugged down low on his nose so he can peer up over the top of them.

Niall’s already smiling. “This is very Love Actually,” Niall says, just to break the ice. “Would it have killed you to make me a sign?”

“I didn’t want to alert the masses,” Nick explains with a twist of the mouth. He stands up off the car, his arm reaching up. “Wanted you all to myself.”

Niall grins, falling into his arms and turning his head automatically to go for a kiss. He’s wanted to do this for so long, it doesn’t feel real in a way.

It doesn’t work out like any of the ways Niall’s imagined it. There’s no slow lick of a tongue or press of warm, soft lips. Nick doesn’t sweep him up off his feet. Niall can’t get his legs wrapped around his waist. There’s no fanfare or fireworks or birds alighting off nearby trees in a flurry of song.

Nick’s sunglasses catch the bridge of Niall’s nose and Nick’s already twisting his head, his chin bumping too hard against Niall’s face so all he gets is a knock of lips before Nick’s jerking his head away with a grunt.

Niall averts his eyes for a moment. Tries to gather himself. This isn’t what he had wanted at _all_. There’s a thought – fleeting but heavy – settling at the back of his mind that this is all wrong. Disappointment settles coolly right down to his toes.

“Let’s try this again,” Nick suggests with a gentle laugh, slinging an arm around Niall’s neck, tugging him into a hug. Niall goes, feeling himself relax into it. He smells of oceany shower gel and hairspray. There’s also a faint stale twang of beer and sun cream underneath it all like he hasn’t showered from yesterday yet. “Have you been to bed yet?”

Nick laughs into his ear and pulls back shaking his head. His lips brush against Niall’s jaw and it makes him shiver. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Niall grins at him, feels his tummy lift like something he’s never felt before. Nick couldn’t sleep. This is the Cinderella moment. Niall snuffles a laugh through his nose.

“Oh, come here,” Nick mutters, tightening his grip around Niall’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Niall laughs elatedly against his lips as the sun rises behind Nick’s shoulder, warm against Niall’s face.

It’s a perfect second kiss.


End file.
